IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

1.0

I.I

1.25

■■■ m |22

12.0

1.4 1 1.6

7]

<^

^l

dl

>^

<p.

J

m

o^.

Photographic

Sdences
Corporation

iV

S

<^^'

^^

\\

^9)

V

«.

O^

33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

M

1?

.<ie\^

C/j

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

:\

Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques

The Institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Features of this
copy which may be bibliographically unique,
which may alter any of the images in the
reproduction, or which may significantly change
the usual method of filming, are checked below.

D

Coloured covers/
Couverture de couleur

□ Covers damaged/
Couverture endommagde

□ Covers restored and/or laminated/
Couverture restaur^e et/ou pellicul6e

□ Cover title missing/
Le titre de couverture manque

□ Coloured maps/
Cartes g^ographiques en couleur

□ Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/
Encre de couleur (i.e. nutre que bleue ou noire)

D
D

Coloured plates and/or illustrations/
Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur

Bound with other material/
Relid avec d'autres documents

D

D

Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion
along interior margin/

La reliure serr^e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la
distortion le long de la marge intdrieure

Blank leaves added during restoration may
appear within the text. Whenever possible, these
have been omitted from filming/
II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutdes
lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte,
mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont
pas 6t6 filmies.

Additional comments:/
Commentaires suppldmentaires:

L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. Les details
de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du
point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier
une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une
modification dans la methods normale de filmage
sont indiqu6s ci-dessous.

I I Coloured pages/

D

Pages de couleur

Pages damaged/
Pages endommagdes

Pages restored and/oi

Pages restaurdes et/ou pellicul6es

Pages discoloured, stained or foxei
Pages d<dcolr>r6es, tacheties ou piqudes

Pages detached/
Pages d^tach^es

Showthroughy
Transparence

Quality of prir

Quality in^gale de {'impression

Includes supplementary materic
Comprend du materiel supplementaire

Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible

I I Pages damaged/

I I Pages restored and/or laminated/

r~X Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/

I I Pages detached/

I I Showthrough/

I I Quality of print varies/

I I Includes supplementary material/

I I Only edition available/

Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata
slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to
ensure the best possible image/
Les pages totalement ou partiellement
obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une peiure,
etc., ont 6t6 filmdes d nouveau de fagon d
obtenir la meilleure image possible.

This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/

Ce document est filmd au taux de reduction indiqu6 ci-dessous.

10X 14X 18X 22X

26X

30X

J

12X

16X

20X

24X

28X

32X

The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks
to the generosity of:

National Library of Canada

L'exempii>ire filmd fut reproduit grSce d la
g6n6rosite de:

Bibliothdque nationale du Canada

The images appearing here are the best quality
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with the
filming contract specifications.

Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed
beginning with the front cover and ending on
the last page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All
other original copies are filmed beginning on the
first page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, and ending on the last page with a printed
or illustrated impression.

The last recorded frame on each microfiche
shall contain the symbol —^> (meaning "CON-
TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"),
whichever applies.

Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et
de la nettetd de I'exemplaire film6, et en
conformity avec les conditions Ju contrat de
filmage.

Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en
papier est imprim^e sont filmis en commenpant
par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la
dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second
plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires
originaux sont filmis en commenpant par la
premidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par
la dernidre page qui comporte une telle
empreinte.

Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la
dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le
cas: le symbole — »• signifie "A SUIVRE ", le
symbole V signifie "FIN".

Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at
different reduction ratios. Those too large to be
entirely included in one exposure are filmed
beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to
right and top to bottom, as many frames as
required. The following diagrams illustrate the
method:

Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre
filmds d des taux de reduction diff^rents.
Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre
reproduit en un seul clich6, il est film6 d partir
de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite,
et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre
d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants
illustrent la mdthode.

1

2

3

1

2

3

4

5

6

1

f.

/

THE

:eeper of bio light hofsk

'in

A CANADIAN STORY OF TO-DAT.

BY

MAUD OGILYY,

AUTHOR OP

"MARIE GOUBDON."

MONTEEAL :

E. M. RENOUF, PUBLISHEK,

1891

-if
I..,

I

pi

i'

/ ^'+1

i

I K

\

£Bt«red according to Act of Parliament of Canada, by K. M. Kenouf, ir the

office of the Minister of Agriculture, in the year One Thousand £igh*

Hundred and Minety-one.

i

THE

KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOrSE,

A CANADIAN STORY OF TO-DAY.

CHAPTEll I.

" In creeping curves of yellow foam,
Up shallow sands the waters slide,
And warmly blow what whispers roam.
From isle to isle the lulled tide"

Up creek and horn the smooth wave swells,
And falls asleep; or inland flowing.
Twinkles among the silver shells,
From sluice to sluice of shallow wells.

Lord Lytton.

\

It was a sultry afteruoon towards the end of Sep-
tember, a haze hung o'er the blue Laurentian hills
and half enveloped the little village of Bic, which to day
seemed all asleep and deserted. Yesterday the last con-
tingent of summer visitors had departed to their homes
in Montreal, Quebec, Toronto, or the United States, as
the case might be, and no longer shouts of merry laugh-
ter resounded through the one quaint old-fashioned
street ; no longer gay parties drove in rambling boy-

THE KEEPER OF DW LIGHT HOUSE.

M

I :

1 '

:■ 1

carts and springless buck-boards, for long days of enjoy*
ment to the fragrant pine-woods, or more distant salmon
river. For that year, ai; any rate, there would be no
more excursions, and no more bountiful harvests of
dollars would be reaped from the rich English or the
richer American. Their beneficent influence was with-
drawn for nine months at any rate, and the people of
the village would now settle down to their quiet lives
for the winter.

The afternoon was oppressive, and the old dames at
their door-steps nodded sleepily over their knitting,
scarcely raising their heads as the cur^ passed by, mur-
muring a hasty benediction, on his way to administer
the last rites of the church to a dying parishioner. The
silence was as of midnight, and the very waves of the
great river seemed to be lapping in over a velvet shore,
so noiseless was their motion. But suddenly, breaking
the silence, and making the old women start from their
slumbers, there came from the garden of a little cottage
back from the road, the sound of a fresh young voice
singing the old French Canadian melody

" Alouette, gentille Alouette,
Alouette je te plumerai,
Je te plumerai la tete, et la tete,
Alouette je te plumerai."

The voice was a clear high soprano and seemed ta

TUE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT BOUSE.

ring out from the garden as if the singer was filled with
an ecstasy which must find expression and an outlet,
an ecstasy, coming from the mere fact of living, of
being conscious of the exquisite pleasure of breathing
under yonder blue canopy of heaven, of taking part ia
the glorious plan of the universe like one of the sons of
Ood, who, in tlie early days of the world's historyi
shouted for joy because they found the beautiful crea-
tion good.

To hear that fresh young voice made one long to
peer over the low whitewashed fence into the garden of
Madame Lafleur. A pretty little garden it was, with
tall stalks of pink and white holly-hocks, great brazen-
faced sunflowers, patches of bright scarlet geraniums,
golden marigolds and asters of every size and color.

Stooping down over a geranium bed, weeding out an
ubiquitous sunflower, which would persist in mingling
with its aristocratic neighbours, was the singer, her song
hushed for a moment in the performance of more im-
portant duties. Julie Lafleur was of that peculiar type
of beauty, the more attractive because of its rarity,
called by those initiated in such matters, a dark blonde.
Though it must be confessed the name sounds paradoxi-
joal, it well describes the personality of Julie. Her hair
was very fair, her eyes a deep greyish blue, that color
which varies with every change of atmosphere, with

THE KEEPER OF lifC LIOHT HOUSE,

I ■

evei.'y passing emotion, her sliin was tanned a healthy
brown tint and the girl presented a picture of the most
robust health. In the freedom of her gait, in the grace-
ful carriage of her head, one could see at once that she
had attained the most perfect ease of deportment, not
by the artificial means of drawing-room training, or
fashionable dancing masters, but by the unaided assist-
ance of that grand old teacher. Dame Nature, who deals
her favors with no miserly hand to those who are content
*to follow her wise counsels.

How Jul'\^ Lalleur came by her good looks often
puzzled those who only knew her niother,a French Cana*
dian woman of the most ordinary type, possessing a
strong tendency to cmbonjmnt, who certainly even in
her young days could never have had the bearing and
wt'J-bred air, which were her daughter's chief charms.
But several of the old gossips about the place remem-
bered her father, and said that the girl inherited her
good looks from him. He had not been seen in Bio
for more than nineteen years, and few, but the very old
residents had any recollections of him, a fair young
Englishman who had come to this quiet village for the
fishing, and who had, during one short summer, made des-
perate love to the Mayor's then pretty daughter and had,
to "he surprise of most people, married her. Desperate
lore, even under the most favorable circumstances, is apt

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

r even in

to grow cold and, after a few months of matrlmony.young
Herbert Flower discovered that he had made a tremen*
dous mistake, in burdening himself for life with this
half-educated French Canadian girl, and he would have
given much to have freed himself from the self-imposed
yoke.

By imperceptible degrees he grew weary of Bic and
the simple primitive life of the good unsophisticated
people there, and a great longing came over him to
return to England and to his own people. But his
wife, ab. ! there was the trouble ! He could not take her
with him, he could not introduce this girl to his
relations, nor did he wish to do so. All he wanted was
to be free, for he was tired of the Mayor's daughter and
utterly indifferent as to what became of her. A man
may hate a woman, and in time learn to love her, for
in hatred interest is a foregone conclusion, but indif-
ference is fatal and not to be overcome, withering all
that goes to make love.

Worst of all, Julie saw that her husband was weary
of the life he led, of his whole environment, and what
was more serious, weary of her, and she took the matter
bitterly to heart. Though only a poor habitant, she
was at least conscious of what she pleased to call her
own inferiority to this man, who had honored her by
making her his wife In her simple way she was a de^

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIGHT HOUSE.

I

¥

votee, and sought the help of Mother Church, that con-
soler of heavy laden souls and weary hearts of every
creed and nation. Patience I patience 1 so counselled
her confessor, patience, forsooth ! to this poor suffeiing
lieart, which had staked its all on one venture, gained a
few months of what was to her an all sufficient paradise,
and a life-time of regret.

As time went on, Herbert Flower, the young English-
man made more and more frequent visits to Quebec,
where a regiment of English soldiers was stationed for
the winter, and each time he went, he remained longer
than the last. Once, after he had been gone for more
than six weeks, his wife grew very anxious about him
and eagerly awaited his return. Instead, however, a
letter was one evening handed to her by a pilot from an
out going steamer, which had stopped for a moment at
Father Point. The letter was cruelly short and to the
point, and informed Madame Lafleur in a few words that
her husband had suddenly been called to England by the
illness of his father, that he was overcome with grief at
the thought of leaving Julie without even a word of
farewell, but that his ship was sailing at once and that
he would return to her by the first steamer in the
spring. He enclosed a cheque for two hundred dollars,
and said that a like amount would be sent her every
cj^uarter, and finally, if she had any important news to

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIOTIT HOUSE.

9

coininunicate to him, she %vas to write him under
cover to his bankers, Messrs. Kobertson & Smith,
Lombard Street, London.

It is doubtful whether Madame Lafleur, as all the
villa«,'er3 caliiid her, ever recovered from the shock this
letter g^ve her. How mucli worse bad news ie in a
letter than conveyed by word of mouth ; it is so cruelly
bare, the facts are so meagre, no softening inflection of
the voice, no unbending of the angry will is possible,
the inevitable woida jnce written stand out inexorebly
black and de. Jed, on the clear white page. This letter
was the death-blow to Julie's hopes. She was his wife;
a more sophisticated \n oman, knowing the ways of t!ie
world, would have found comfort in that fact; she did
not. She had lost him ; the fault, she arguid, must be
hers and she racked her poor brain to discover how she
could have displeased him, in wliat one point she could
have failed in her duty towards him. No, she would
not take his money she decided in the first moments of
her bitter grief and disappointment, he might keep it,
she hal enougli for her simple wants and living was
very cheap at Bic.

Of course M. le cur^ was told all, he was the con-
fessor of Madame and fortunately, besides being a priest
worthy of his vocation, was a man of common sense
and somewhat more of a man of the world than most
of his parishioners.

10

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIGHT HOUSE.

Ill

i;

!i

With the easy going philosophy of a man of the
world, M. Gagnon did not allow his equanimity to be
ruffled by any event, however unforeseen, and to tell the
truth, he was not very much astonished at what had
occurred, for, before the wedding he had ventured to
remonstrate with the girl's father at the inequality of
the marriage, and to predict unhappiness in the future.
But M. le Maire, though listening politely to his spirit-
ual adviser's warnings, paid no heed to them, and
thought from a worldly point of view, which is the point
of view most fathers take in such a case, tliat the con-
nection was a most desirable one for his daughter.
Unfortunately the sequel proved that M. le curci had
been wiser than M. le Maire, and when poor Julie came
to him for counsel, the advice he gave her was sage and

•nractical. ^

*• - ji

" It was all very well talking about broken heirts and
blighted hopes," he said, " but in spite of being afflicted
with these sad things, one cannot die, one must go on
living, only cowards die, but to live it is necessary to eat,
and to buy the wherewithal to eat, one must have
money."

" Xo, Madame,'' continued Monsieur Gagnon, ** no, you
must not return the money, you must keep it. Herbert
Lafleur was your husband, he was very wicked to desert

you." ^

'E.

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGET HOUSB.

II

lan of the
mity CO be

to tell the
what had
entured to
jquality of
lie future,
his spirit-
ihem, and
5 the point

the con-
daughter,
curcj had
ulie came

sage and

eirts and
afflicted
St go on
ry to eat,
List have

" no, you
Herbert
:o desert

"' He will be back in the spring " protested Madame
feebly,

"Well, perhaps" replied the cure doubtfully "so
nuch the better, but in the meantime you must draw
this money. . And your marriage certificate, you have
(t ? Give it to me, I will keep it safe for you."

The poor woman, acquiesced in all the curd suggested,

[udeed it was her nature to acquiesce, and at this time

she was too much overcome to argue, and gladly left all

ler arrangements to the priest, who managed everything

^ell and invested what money she did not require im«

[mediately, in order that in case of emergencies she

might have something to fall back upon.

The autumn and winter passed, spring came, but the
Englishman did not, summer navigation opened, the
great river was enlivened by in coining steamers from
the old world, and as each passed by Bic, Julie anxiously
hoped that her husband was on board, he, who was in
spite of his desertion, to her, still the chiefest among
men.

But her keenest anguish had abated, and consolation
had come to her in another "'ay to cheer her desolate
lot, and when the icy rivers of the north began to break
their fetters, and the tender green maple buds bui.t into
new-born beauty, her child was laid in her arms, and at
the touch of its tiny helpless fingers the dead load of

12

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

■1 i : ' 1

)':

'1:11

I L

despondency was lifted, and hope eternal blossomed,
where despair had reigned throughout the winter days.

The years passed uneventfully in that quiet part of
the world, little change came to the people, and less to |
the place, except, that it had become a popular summer
resort for visitors from all parts of Canada and the
United States, who came to this quiet spot to recruit, |
far from the busy duties of nineteenth century civiliza-
tion. Twenty years afterwards the river St. Lawrence
wore the self-same aspect as when Herbert Flower used
to paddle in his bark canoe far out into its deep waters,
at least, it had only two phases, one, cold, grey and
stormy, the other blue, smiling, steadfast.

But though little change could be perceived in the older
generation, much was seen in the child, who had come
to be a solace to Julie Lafieur's aching heart, and to till
it with that most unselfish love our fallen nature can
know.

This child had grown to the stature of a fair maiden,
tall, slender, graceful as the lilies in her mother's garden,
and in the care and tenderness Madame Lafleur ex-
pended on her daughter, she forgot at times the faithless
lover of her youth, and she learned to accept, with the
philosophy middle age brings, the grief, that in her early
days she had deemed a cross greater than she could bear.

Youth calls out in wild protest, in hot, impatient

:i l:

[ f

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

1»

irmuring, in cries of anguished entreaty because of its

il or fancied woes ; middle age has learned the lesson
[at all things come to him who waits, that there is
ttle or nothing worth being excited, much less agonized
rer, that, after all, dining is the most important of
^ents ; the illusions of life are past, most things are
mionplace, there are no deep valleys of shadows^

jre are no high mountains of elation, overclouded
ith rose-colored dreams. In those early days we
Iffered more, we enjoyed more, we loved more
fssionately, we hated more intensely, we were all
[tremes ; but what would not most of us give for
it one hour of that halcyon time when the frame was
(rong, the heart was brave ; when failures, more nume-
)us than successes, had not weakened the sinewy arm,
)r discouraged the doughty spirit.

On the afternoon my story opens, Madame Lafleur
id, after twelve o'clock dinner, fallen fast asleep, and
jr daughter, Julie, had sallied forth to weed the
irden.

This garden was Julie,s delight. Ever since she could
^member anything, she remembered digging and plant-
ig there, and all the happiest memories of her young
[e were associated with it. Here it was, that after
jr first communion, the cur^ had given her his bless-
|g; here it was that Pierre

tl4

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIGHT HOUSE.

"'Ill

" Good day, Julie," said a voice from the road ; ^h !
I see you are busy, as usual."

" Good day, M. le cur^," said the girl. " Yes, I am
always busy, these weeds grow so fast — much faster
than the flowers."

" Ah ! my child, your garden is like the world — the
bad people get on much faster than the good. I have
just come from the death-bed of that mysterious old
man who lives down at the point." i .

" What, old Wilson ; is he dead ? " f

'* Yes ; I must go now, but tell your mother I shal "
come this evening to see her after vespers, and you shall
hear this strange man's history. It is very curious.
Au revoir, my child."

Jl

d ; ^h !

es, I am
h faster

•Id— the

I have

ious old

r I shal '
ou shall
curious.

CHAPTEK II.

*' There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore
Of cold aud pitiless Labrador,
Where, under the iuood, upon mounts of frost,
Full mauy a mariner's bones are tossed j
Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck.
And the dim, blue fire that lights her deck
Dotli play on as pale and livid a crew
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew.
To Deadman*8 isle, in the eye of the blast,
To Deadraan's isle she speeds her fast :
By skeleton shapes her sails are furled.
And the hand that steers is not of this world."

Moore.

IHREE hours later, a cheerful little party consisting

of four persons, was gathered together in Madame

.alleur's brightly-lighted kitchen. In this part of the

world it was considered much more sociable to sit in the

dtchen, for the parlor was seldom used except on

)Ccasions of state, such as marriages or funeralS; and

ras, as in most Fr'nch-Canadian homes of the ordinary

class, a cold and cheerless apartment.

I

.'' n

i

'ill

I

16

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

\ I

't

I

tllli

The fire burned away merrily, and the evening being
somewhat chill, all were gathered closely round it,
listening to M. Gagnon, who seemed anxious to impart
what he knew of his curious parishioner, Wilson.

Young Pierre Grenier, who some months before had
been betrothed to Julie Lafleur, listened with an absorbing
interest to every word which fell from the lips of the
curd He was a tall, broad-shouldered young man,
with a well-knit, muscular frame, and an intelligent
face, his forehead and the upper part of his counten-
ance being decidedly prepossessing from the frankness
and honesty they portrayed. His dark, thick hair
hung in masses over his brow, and gave him rather
a Spanish or Italian appearance. One always thought
of the woods when looking at Pierre Grenier, for he
spent most of his time out of doors, and would have
served as an excellent model for one of those stalwart
coitreurs de hois of the early period of New France.

"What a strange man Wilson was," said Pierre, to
the priest. " He seemed to care for no one but him-
self."

" Ah I wait till you hear his story, then you will not
wonder so much at his reserve and selfishness, '' replied
M. Gagnon, Yesterday I was with him all afternoon
and far into the night, and he talked incessantly. He
could not sleep, and a sort of false strength seemed to

be

Idayl

and

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIQIIT HOUSE,

IT

g being
und it,
impart
ti.

>re had
sorbing
of the
g man,
diligent
>unten-
nkness
k hair
rather
lought
for he

I have
alwart

:re, to
him-

II not
plied

rnoon
He
ed to

be vouchsafed to to him for that night, l>ecause all lo-
jday he was very weak and could scarcely raise his head,
land this afternoon passed quietly away."

Madame Lafleur crossed herself devoutly, and in-
wardly resolved that she would say a prayer that night
for the repose of the poor sinner's soul. ,

" It appears," M. Gaguon went on, " that for many
years "Wdson had lived on the coast of Labrador. I
know that part of the country well, for when I was
f .St ordained, the Bishop sent me on a mission there.
Tho pco[)le live in little hamlets far removed from each
other, and it was my duty to drive in a sleigh with a
team of dogs, and visit each settlement in turn, read the
prayers of the church over the dead, baptize the chil-
dren, and perform the marriage ceremony. But to
return to Wilson, I know his tale must be true, for no
one could feign such an intimate knowledge of that
strange land, and it is a well-authenticated fact that for
years the deep and tortuous inlets and great bays on
the La^ rador coast, with good anchorage, afforded a safe
haven of refuge to rovers of the seas.

Driven from more frequented waters, they repsbired
to this northern shore to mend their shattered vessels.
Here, during the short summer, tliey recovered from,
their wounds ; here, too, they secreted their booty.
Here, perhaps, the long sought treasure of Captain.

.i

[

\ I

i ;■

\ %

! {

:

^jl

p"'i

i

, 1

\ I

' ' J

;

ill

II

18

THE KEEPER OF BW LIGHT HOUSE.

Kidd may be hidden. Who can tell what secrets are
held forever in the recesses of its wave-beaten and rock-
bound shores? Perhaps the reason old Wilson was |
willing to confide in me was because I knew something
of the country and could enter into, and appreciate his
stories about its wonders, and would know that he did
not exaggerate.

Here M. le curd paused for a moment to take breath,
■and to partake of some of Madame Lafleur's sweet cider,
made from the rosy cheeked apples which grew in such
abundance in her garden. In the meantime Pierre
Grenier and Julie were growing very impatient for the |
story ""o continue, and did not see why M. le curd found
it necessary to make such a long preamble before coming 1
to the point, but they, with thrt native politeness which
seems inborn in the French of these districts, were far
too courteous to express their sentiments. At length,
having disposed of the cider, M. Gaguon went on :

" Towards the month of June, 1820, this man Wilson
(may Heaven grant peace to his sinful soul) settled on
the coast of Canadian Labrador, and alone, and unaided,
followed the rough and precarious calling of a fisherman.
At the close of each season he visited Newfoundland to
dispose of his catch to the English traders, and to
replenish his stock of provisions and return to his lonely
home to pass the long and dreary Labrador winter. He

THE KEEPER OF DIG LIGHT HOUSE.

19

ii'cts are
nd rock-
3on was
mething
jiate his
b he did

5 breath,

let cider,

in such

3 Pierre

: for the

f^ found

coming

js which

wrere far

length,

n :

Wilson
tied on
naided,
Herman,
land to
and to
3 lonely |
er. He

told me that for five years he led this life, till at length
he grew weary of his loneliness. After having, by
economy and thrift, amassed a few hundred pounds, a
great longing came o'er him to see old Scotland, the
land of his birth, once more.

"Accordingly he crossed the Atlantic in a schooner,
and, during a round of visits to his Scotch friends, he
met a young girl whom he persuaded to leave home and
kindred and share with him the perils of Labrador.
Fitting out a small vessel, he set sail for America with
his young bride, and a crew of hardy settlers and their
families. It seems, from his subsequent history, that
some demon of restlessness had at this time seized on
the formerly steady young fisherman, and he induced
the more active and daring spirits of the little colony to
join him in a new project. One October day he placed
his effects on board his schooner and quietly slipped
out of the harbor, determining to lead a life of piracy.
All his old habits of thrift and industry appear to have
left him, his natural affections seem to have grown cold,
for with most heartless cruelty he basely deserted his
wife and young child. Poor woman, a stranger in a
strange land, she died broken-hearted, and when, after a
year of plunder, Wilson returned, all that was left to
remind him of those he should have cherished and
protected, was a lonely grave by the shores of the Gulf.

1

} j

ii

I; I

fm

'iO

THE KEEPER OF BIO LPJUT HOUSE.

On til 3 coast there is now a small scLtlemeul, wliich
I know, and where I have often held services ; it is
called Mutton Bay, or Meccatina Harbor. About a
mile to the east of tliis settlement is a deep inlet, called
"L'Anse aux Morts," or Bay of the Dead. It was
so named because of a small burying-ground which
lies on its shore. This bay is screened alike from the
fury of the sea and the observation of passing vessels,
by a small island, which is so situated that it is easily
mistaken for the mainland. Under the rugged aud
frowning cliffs which overhang the Bay of the Dead
Wilson and his companions landed. Securely sheltered,
they perfected their plans for a life of piracy and blood-
shed, and, in truth, it would be difficult to imagine a
spot better fitted for such a conclave .

The course of vessels then taken on their way from
Europe to Quebec was through the Straits of Belle Isle,
close to the northern shore of the St. Lawrence and just
outside the island behind which Wilson and his crew
decided to lie in hiding. At that time a packet was
sent out annually by the British Government with the
pay of the forces stationed in Canada on board. Wilson
knew this only too well, and was on the watch for this
vessel. Unsuspicious of danger, she approached the
island, when Wilson's schooner darted out from its
hiding place and svroopcd down upon her. She fell an

i i

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE,

2t

I, wliich
ss ; it is
^Lbout a
}t, called

It was
1 which
:rom the

vessels,
is easily
ged aud
le Dead
heltered,
id blood-

lagine a

ay from
3lle Isle,
and just
lis crew
ket was
with the
Wilson
for this
led the
[•om its
5 fell aa

'x:tS

;asy prey. Wilson confessed to me that they butchered
icr unfortunate captain and crew, removed the treasure,
md then scuttled the ship, leaving no trace oi the foul
leed. At Quebec everyone was awaiting the overdue
jhip, but at last hope died out and it was supposed that
jhe had succumbed to the fury of the Atlantic. The
following year another packet was sent out, which
shared the fate of her predecessor. .

The loss of two vessels within such a short time
iroused suspicion. A third was snnt and with her
man-of-war. All went well until she approached the
Jay of the Dead, when tlie man-of-war, having fallen
far astern, the pirate schooner darted out, quickly
japtured the picket, secured the treasure and murdered
dl the crew with one exception. This was a negro
[Wilson wished to keep for a servant. Hoping to pro-
)itiate his captor, this man told the pirate that a man-
i-war was close behind them, and this news so alarmed
the captain that he beat a precipitate retreat to the
island. That night another dread crime was added to
the long list already committed by the wretched man,
^earing discovery and holding with the adage that
lead men tell no tales, he changed his mind about the
legro. But, first of all, he resolved to bury his trea-
mre, and under cover of a blinding storm, while the
thunder reverberated over those old Laurentian hills.

1 1

22

TBE KEEPER OF BIC LIQUT HOUSE.

i i

and the lighlning cleft the thick, black clouds, he
collected all his ill-gotten gains into five small casks.
With the help of the negro he placed these in as many
holes dug in the old buiyiiig-ground of the Bay of the
Dead, two casks on each side of a central grave, which
he left open. The ne<j;ro questioned him about this
empty grave in trembling tones, fearful of the treach-
erous designs of the pirate, but ^vas promptly told to
continu3 his work and hold his tongue. The captive
had finished his task and turned his back for a
moment to throw on a grave a last shovelfull of
sand, when Wilson suddenly sprang upon him and
plunged a knife into his heart. As the life blood slowly
ebbed away, and before the body had time to grow stiff
and cold, he twisted the limp form of his victim round
the central cask, his old Scottish superstitious nature
coming to the surface and impelling him to believe that
the wraith of the negro would keep guard over the
treasure. The central grave he completed alone and
placed a stone at the head of each of the five.
. At dawn Wilson's sentinels saw the man-of-war sail-
ing through the western passage into their retreat, and
they quickly escaped in their schooner through the
eastern outlet. Wildly, again, that night raged the
Storm, fiercely the winds blew and lashed the waves to-
fury with resistless force, making them strike the pirate
ship and throwing her upon a sunken reef.

THE KEEPER OF DIG LIQUT HOUSE.

23

louds, he
lall casks,
as many
ay of the
^e, which
bout this
le treach-
y told tc
} captive
:k for a
-elfull of
[lini and
3d slowly
jrow stiff
im round
s nature
ieve that
over the
one and

tvar sail-
'eat, and
ugh the
ged the
(^aves to-
le pirate

Shriek after shriek arose from her crew ; wild sup-

)lication8 rent the midnight air as the despairing men

[sought to be reconciled to the God, whose laws they

md violate 1. But the God of our fathers is a God of

^vengeance as well as o God of mercy, and, though the^

I wicked may flourish for a time, the day of retribution

'Will come, and all these wicked men, except their

i leafier, were that night launched into eternity. It is a^

m:ii vel to me how he escaped. Througli the long nigh^

he clung to a broken mast, and when the morning dawned

and the tide was low he managed to swim to shore,

though numb with cold.

Of course, it was impossible for him to reujain on the

coast, for everyone knew him and he was cordially hated

and feared, so he resolved to make his journey farther

up the country and pitched on our village of Bic as hi*

final dwelling place. You knov the rest. Madam©

Laileur, you remember when he came here ten years-

ago how we all thought what a strange being he was^

and judged him iiarmless and a little crazed. We were

surprised when he could afford to buy that house at the

point from the seigneur, and little dreamed that with the

remains of his treasure he could almost buy the whole
of our village."

The curd stopped, and, pouring out another glass of

cider, cooled his throat, which was hot and dry frooi

speaking so long.

u

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

lii

I iii-

" What a wonderful tale," saul Julie, " M. le cur^, 1
flm glad we did not know that such a monster lived
near us, till he was dead . "

" You need not have feared, my child, I hardly think
lie would IiavG harmed anyone of late years. His
strength seemed to have left him and his body was
racked with rheumatism, from which he suffered ever
since the cold autuum night he spent on the wreck off
the coast of Labrador."

" Well, his treasure did not do him much good," said
Madame Lafieur.

"No, it did not."

" What has he done with it ?" asked Pierre Grenier,
who had hitherto kept silence.

" After his escape from the wreCK," said M. Gagnon,
* he found his way back to the Bay of the Dead, dug up
all the graves but the central one (he could not bear to
!ook on the body of his victim), and took all the treasure,
which was chiefly in silver and sovereigns, with him."

" But where is it now ?" demanded Madame Lafieur.

" Some of it he spent to support himself, but the
remainder, which, I think, must amount to a consider-
able sum, he stored away in a great wooden chest,
which never left his bed-side ; this he has left to the
church, in his last moments becoming penitent and
wishing me to say masses for the repose of his soul."

>USE.

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

n

■ M. le cur^, I
lonster lived

hardly think
years. His
lis body was
iuffered ever
he wreck off

1 good," said

■ ''• Why, M. le cure, yor will be able to build a wing
IP the church now," said Julie, knowing this to be a
lon4 cherished project of M. Gagnon.

" I'erhaDS, my child — we shall see — perhaps the gold,
Hhich has been the cause of so much crime, will be
1^ last consecrated to a good purpose."
I " And that old man was a pirate ? " said Madame
^alleur, musingly. " Well, I always thought there was
foniething strange about liim. He was very unneigh-
^urly, and a heretic, lor he never came to mass during
#1 the yea^s he has been at Bic, and I know of no one
%ho has entered his hous^i except Jean Pinsonneault."
rre Grenier, ii <« Yes, they were great friends," put in Julie. " I
%onder why. Jean, you may be sure had some object
view ; he is a great schemer."

" My child, said the curd, you must not speak ill of
irour neighbors ; Jean is a bright, clever youth, and has
jinibitioiis, that U natural, but I do not think you should
«all him scheming."

Julie was silent, and did not reply to the curd's

ebuke.

I "But was Wilson a heretic ? " asked Pierre Grenier.

" For many years he had no religion, feared neither

od nor man ; but, during the last few weeks, I think a

etter spirit came over him, and I trust my humble

inistratious have not been in vain. As a penitent sin-

M. Gagnon,
'ead, dug up
not bear to
he treasure,
with liim."
Qie Lafleur.
;lf, but the
a consider-
)den chest,
left to the
litent and
is soul."

i

«

11

26

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIOIIT HOUSE,

-II

Mil

I

%■

ner, I p'^ ministered to him the last rites of the church,
and just as the sun was shedding its parting rays through
the little window of his room, Wilson's soul left its
earthly frame and went to be judged before a higher
tribunal than ours."

All the good people crossed themselves devoutly at
the solemn words, and M. le cur6 rose to go.

" Pierre, are you coming now ? We can walk home
together," he said, turning to the young man.

Pierre bade a much shorter good-bye than usual to
Julie, and with M. Gagnon left the house.

It was a dark, starless night, still atid cloudy ; no
lights could be seen anywhere, save in the far distance
the revolving lamp of the lighthouse of Bic, that wel-
come guide to mariners coming up the great gulf.

The two men walked some distance in silence, for the
priest was tired, and Pierre was thinking of Julie,
Suddenly the former clutched the pocket of his long
black soutane, ind said, in a distressed and perplexed
tone,

" Ah, Pierre, how forgetful I am. I hive left my
spectacles on the mantlepiece in old Wilson's cottage.
They are the only ones I have, and I must take them
with me early to-morrow to the parish of St. Anaclet^ '
where I am to meet the Bishop. Would you be kind
euough to run back to the house on the point ; see>

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGUT HOUSE.

n

vontly at

Ik home

usual to

idy ; no
distance
^at wel-
f.

for the
f Julie,
lis lonsr
rplexed

left my
jottage,
e them
.naclet^
3 kind
t; see^

lere is the key ; you are younger than I, and it is not
rery far."

Pierre hesitated just for one moment, for to tell the
kruth, in spite of his fearless nature, M. le curb's request
lad staggered him.
To go to that lonely point, to the desolate, uninhabit-
led house where lay the dead form of the notorious rob-
Iber, side by side with his ill-:^ott«^n gains, that was a
(■journey which the bravest might refuse to undertake-
But he delayed only for an instant, and in much less
.Uime than it takes to tell, his fears vanished; indeed,
fear and he had long been stranger.^ ; his healthy out*
door life had driven away any tiniidi:y which might
have been latent in his nature.

" Yes, M. le curii, of course I will go ; I shall only be
;too ghd to be of service to you," and he started off
immediately at a brisk pace.

The point was half a mile further on, and jutted out

far into the river. Wilson's house, a small, whitewashed

cottage, two stories high, was situated on the extreme

%dge of the point, within three or four feet of the

/Water, and the front door faced the river, from which

^t this time, a strong breeze was blowing.

Perhaps of all the aggravating things in a world full

fcnough of trials, the most aggravating is to endeavor to

discover a key-hole in the dark. Certainly Pierre found

I

^

!l

m

28

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

V' 1

it so ; match after match he lighted, aad -scarcely was
the flame of each kindled, than the breeze from the
river extinguished it. At length, however, success
crowned his efforts, and he found the key-hole, placed
the key therein, and opened the door, which yielded to ^
his pushing wiath a weird, creaking sound, as if in pro-
test at the late intruder.

On entering, he found himself in a small, dark hall,
and with the light of another match, he saw that there
was a door opening on either side. Which was the '|
dead man's room ? Well, he would try the one on the
right hand. This was wrong, however, and opening the
door he saw that it was empty, save for a few pieces of
lumber and two or three chairs, but to his great delight
he also saw some ends of tallow candle, which he seized
on with thankfulness, and was about to light one,
when, from the hall without he heard a sound as of |
stealthy footsteps. A cold perspiration broke out on
his forehead, his hand trembled, he could not move ;
tramp, tramp, went the steps slowly, muffled and soft,
but none the less terrifying. Ah ! they were coming
near the door, and imigination had quickly conjured
up the vision of the ghastly sight of the dead pirate's
ghost rising to wreak vengeance on the invader of his
home.

But imagination was at fault, for the footsteps passed

2I1E KEEPER OF BIO LIQII2 HOUSE

2&

by the door, and the sound of their mufiled tread died
away in the distance at the end of the hall.

Pierre started up and listened for a momont, almost
doubting the evidence of his senses. Who but himself
could be in this lonely house at midnight ? It must be
fancy, but no ! the footsteps had been real enough in
their muffled thud, thud, on the creaking wooden floor ;
they could not be the product of his own brain. Could
i\\^ be the footsteps of the dead man, who, by the

j agency of the evil powers he had served so well during
his lifetime, was enabled to rise again in the gloomy

[hours of the night and gloat over his hidden gold ? No,
he must not give way to vain suppositions like these,

laud he braced every nerve to cross the hall and open
the door on the opposite side of the hall, when he
immediately saw that he was in the right apartment at

[last.

The tallow candle flickered in an annoying manner>

[its grease dripping down on his bare hand in great hot
drops, its flame burning up for a moment Ijrightly, en-
abling him to see distinctly his environment. It was a
wretcl^ed, cheerless room in which he found himself, and,

(even had the noon-day sun been streaming in at the
little window, it would scarce have relieved its dreari-

[uess. There was an old-fashioned fire-place, with a

[roughly hewn mantel board above, and in the grate were

30

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

m

\v

iili

in

illl i

HI !{

the charred aucl bhickened remaius of the fire M. le
curd had lighted for the sick man. Oii the narrow
trestle bed lay the form of Wilson, covered with a white
sheet, which outlined distinctly every curve of the
inanimate clay, and on the breast was placed a roughly
hewn wooden crucifix, which M. Gagnon had laid there
that afternoon.

Pierre looked anxiously aroun:!, almost forgetting the
errand on which he had come, and the story he had
heard that night came back vividly to his mind with a
new meaning. Ah ! yes, there in the corner was the
chest around which centred such tales of exciting
adventure. He must examine it before he left the
cottage, for he wf^s perfectly certain he would never
enter the house again.

The chest was placed quite close to the bed, where it
had always been during the lifetime of its owner, wk
never let it out of his sight. It was an old fashioneil
oaken box, about three feet square, and was riveted to-
gether with iron bands. There were engraved on these
bands on the lid some mysterious letters, and Pierre
fitr'"'!.;'' tasclnated, knelt down to examine theiii.
' ' . , ! 0 J startled anew by a sepulchral voice, whict
seeiu: . ,ome from behind him, saying in slov
distinct, monotonous tones, " Death, death, death t
him who touches the hidden treasure." He lookei

i Jaui/h

\

<■

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

31

iting the
he had
d with a
was the
exciting
left the
d never

behind him ; nothing was there save the black darkness
of the cheerless room. He glanced at the bed where the
dead man lay still, cold and silent. Again the voice
repeated, this time less distinctly, and as if dying away
amid the shadows, the words, " Death, death, death to
him." Pierre waited to hear no more ; he must get
away from that horrible house ; his candle fell from his
trembling hand, and was extinguished in its fall.
Through the door, out into the passage he groped his
way, fearful of meeting with the touch of a clammy
liand or again hearing the horrible words of an uncanny
ghostly visitant. Forgotten were the cure's spectacles,
and in his haste and terror he did not perceive a dark
form brush past him in the hall, nor hear the mocking
laugh which followed his retreating footsteps.

rr-^

ilii '

til>'

(I

t!);!!M!!i'il

i

CHArXEPt III.

" 0 now forever farewell tlie tranquil niind!

Farewell content !"

• Shakespeare

0 earth eo full of dreary noii*es !
0 men with wailing in your voices I
V 0 delved gold, the wallers heap

O strife, 0 curse, that o'er it fall !
God strikes a silence through you all.
And giveth Lis beloved sleep,

His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap
More softly than the dew is shed
Or cloud is floated overhead
" He giveth his beloved sleep."

E.^B. Browning.

/ k H, Julie, good-morning ; have you seen M. le cur^
•^ to-day ? I have been to his house and he is not
there," said Jean Pinsonneault overtaking Julie Lafleur
on her way from market and offering to carry her
basket for her.

THE KEEPER OF BIC HOnT HOUSE.

3^

"Nu, I have not seen him, because lie is not here,'*
replied Julie. " He tolj us last night that he was
coina to St. Anaclet this morning; and he will be there
for .souic day?. Thank you, I can carry my basket
myself, it is not very heavy. Good-morning M. Pinson-
neault.''

"Will you not ask me to come in tio your house?'
Xax are not very polite to me."

" Xo, not to-day. We are very busy. It is baking
day and the house is all upSL^t," said the girl, abruptly.

" Good-bye, then, Julie. I shall come again when it
is not baking day, but then I suppose il' it is not baking
day it will be washing or scrubbing day. An rcvoir.''

" Xever mind, Mdlle. Ladeur/' he muttea^ed as he
walked off, " some day you will repent in dust and ashes
your treatment of me."

Julie Lafleur had had, before the advent of Pierre

Grenier, many admirers ; as it was but natural that

such a pretty and attractive girl should, and amongst

the most devoted was Jean Pinsonneault, on whom

her mother looked with favorable eyes. Jean was rich,

as riches are counted in that part of the world, he was

steady going, hardworking and neither smoked nor

drank, and his father was by far tJie most prosperous

man in the village.

Julifi said he was sly and untruthful, but these were

3

34

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

m

minor vices in the eyes of her mother, and perhaps if
the handsome young blacksmith from Quebec, had "ot
appeared on the scene at this juncture, she might
have been persuaded to take Jean for better or worse.
But fate had another destiny in store for her.

Pierre Grenier had come from Quebec four months
before, highly recommended by his former employer, to
take charge of the blacksmith's shop at Bic. Here his
frank good nature and pleasing personality, made him
very popular and, ever since he had been in the village,
he had conducted himself in a quiet and eminently
praiseworthy manner.

True, he had fallen head over ears in love with the
acknowledged belle of the village, but there was nothing
very extraordin iry or damaging in that fact, except
that his success in winning Julie Lafleur had made hiiii
several enemies amongst his defeated rivals, the most
bitter of whom was Jean Pinsonneault. But this did
not trouble his peace of mind much, for the course of
his love, notwithstanding proverbial utterances, had run
very smoothly, and the wedding day was fixed for the
end of October.

The afternoon following Pierre's ignominious retreat
from the dwelling of old Wilson, he was at his usual
place at the forge hammering away lustily, and at the
same time talking to two or three of his friends, who

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

8S

had strolled up to discuss the news. Perhaps in the
whole world there is no such hot bed of gossip to be
found, as in a small French Canadian village ; everyone
takes the liveliest interest in his or her neighbours
doings, and visiting at tbe various houses generally
goes on with great energy all afternoon during those
seasons of the year when work is slack.

" So old Wilson is dead," remarked one man. They
say he left some money, I wonder who will get it. Do
you know Pierre ?"

" I know nothing about old Wilson,'' said the black-
.sniith, so shortly that the others turned and looked at
him in surprise."

" Oh ! you know nothing about old Wilson. I'll an-
swer for it that you know more about him than anyone
else," said the sneering voice of Jean Pinsonneault at
his elbow.

" What do you mean ? said Pierre turning from the
forge and facing him angrily."

" Only this, that you were seen last night, or rather
early this morning, coming from the house on the point."
" Well, what if I were ? What of that ? "
" You see, my friends" said Jean, addressing the little
knot of idlers gathered round the forge. " You see he
admits to having been at the point last night, I wonder
if he will admit the rest."

i i

8C

THE KEEPER OF JilC LIGHT HOUSE.

I'll

< i !

Pierre stared at the man in anmzeniunt. "What did
he mean ? The rest, what more was there to admit ?

"Ah ! see," Jean went on in his smooth sneering tono»
he is pretending to be innocent, he doesn't know. Well
my fine friend, where is the cliest my father's boat-man
saw you carry off from Wilson's house ? I am an ex-
ecutor of the dead man's estate and I want to know."

" I know of no chest, at least

" Well what do you know ? "

'I

" The chest was never touched by me. It is there
still."

" It is not there. See here, Jacques, "calling to an old
fisherman, who stood near," the chest is gone from its
place, is it not ? "

" Yes M., it is gone," he replied.

" And now tell these gentlemen who you saw come
out of Wilson's cottage this morning."

The old man looked at Pierre, hesitated a moment,
and then replied.

"As I was coming back from the beach early this
morning, it was scarcely daylight, but I was examining
my nets before the tide came in, I saw that man com-
ing out of Wilson's house walking very slowly, because
he was weighted down with a great box."

•' It is not true," exclaimed Pierre angrily. " It is not
true, I will admit that I was at the dead man's house

THE KEEPEk OF BIG LIGHT IIOU^E.

3r

come

I

■*

last night, but it was not to stfiil. It was to yet M le
aire's spectacles, which he had left on the mantel piece
the day before, and I did not leave the house in the
morning, it wcs at midnight."

"A likely story indeed," sneered Jean Pinsonneault.
I don't believe it."

" You don't believe it ? Who minds whether you
believe it or not, and who made you my accuser ?" said
Pierre, facing him, an ominous and angry light in his
eyes which it would have been well if Jean had taken
]iote of in time.

*' 1 am your accuser because I am the heir to the
dead man's property ; he left it to me in his will and I
am not going to be defrauded of my rights by you,
Pierre Grenier, an interloper who has already been too
kindly treated in Bic. Now, my friends," turning to
the crowd, "there is no doubt of his guilt ; will you help
me to arrest him? He will escape if we let him go
now," and Jean started forward to clutch Pierre's arm.

" Take care," shouted one of the men in the crowd,
who saw the passion in the blacksmith's face, till this
moment restrained. " Take care, Jean Pinsonneault."

But the warning came too late, for with a sudden and
swift gesture, Pierre caught up a huge hammer, which
lay beside the forge, and with one mighty blow struck
his accuser and felled him to the earth. He had not

38

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

\]V-V-

I

%

Ijijlii'ihiiiii

reckoned on the strength of that blow, and anger had
lent to his strong arm a greater power than it had here*
tofore possessed. His intention had been, at the most,
to stun the man, but the hammer had but too surely
done its work and his enemy lay dead at his feet.

The gaping crowd stood awe- stricken, gazing stupidlf
at the man lying before them, his sightless eyes staring
up to the calm, blue sky, the awful majesty of death
fastening for all time the mocking smile on his lips.

Without attempting to detain him, they let Pierre
pass, and he, still blind with passion, scarce realizing
that he had killed a fellow-being, walked hurriedl7 to
the river shore and from a little sheltered bay drew out
his bark canoe and launched it into the deep, blue,
glistening waters of the St. Lawrence.

To be alone, that was his only wish. His thoughts
•were all confused, his brain in a whirl.

It was the most perfect time in the day, just when
the fierce heat of the afternoon sun had abated and
before it sough'; the other side of the world for twelve
long hours. A soft grey haze wrapped land and water,
the waves were rippling gently, a faint breeze ruffled the
broad bosom of the river, four or five white- winged yachts
were idly floating by, their sails outlined against the sky.
The scent of new mown hay came wafted across the
waters, and all nature was harmonious and at peace.

lUE KEEPER 01 BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

8»

The mai^ so at variance with his surroundings, directed
his canoe to an island which lies at the entrance to the
harbor. For the last two hundred years this has been
called Massacre Island, because of the dreadful scene
which took place there when the Red men of the north
made fierce war on each other. On this island there is-
a huge cavern, which obscures from view those who are
within, owing to the large boulders of rock and earth
which lie at its entrance. On one of their hunting
expeditions, two hundred Mic-Mac Indians encamped
in the ohl days here, and on the good beach of the island
securely fastened their canoes.

In the cave were placed the squaws nud papooses,.
while without tlie re:l si in warriors slept in apparent
safety. But their deadly enemies, the Iroquois, that.
fierce and remorseless tribe, were ever on the alert, and
during the still night, when the Mic-Mac encampment
slept peacefully, the enemy crept through the under-
wood of the island, and lurking behind some tall pine
trees, the Iroquois braves, awaited the time to destroy the-
foe. With fiendish ingenuity, they silently surrounded
the cavern, piled fagots at its entrance and set fire to
them. Then, with wild, despairing cries, the Mic Macs en-
deavored to escape, but those who got free from the fire foil
a prey to the scalping knife, and out of two hundred only
five remained to tell the tale of the massacre on the island.

4)

HIE KEEPER Of BIG LI'Jin JIOrSE.

But to return to Pierre Grenier. On reaching the
island he threw himself under the shadow of the pine
trees, and feeling completely worn out by the events of
the last twenty-four hours, lay down on the grass and
was soon fast asleep. For hours ho slept and dreamed
of his life in Quebec, a life of honesc toil in that quaint,
old world city, with its fortresses, its citadel, its con-
vents and churches, its many remnants of departed
military glory. He dreamed of the home of his child-
hood, where all who knew him loved and respected him,
and the sweetest dreams he was to have for many a
weary year came to him that afternoon.

When he awoke it was dark, the sun had set, the air
was chill. A sound of bells floated towards the island.
It was the Angelus from the village church. From force
of long habit Pierre rose, removed his hat, made the
sign of the cross and muttered the Hail Mary. A deep
silence followed the ringing of the Angelus, and with it,
in a wave of returning consciousness, the memory of
the day's events came to him.

He was a murderer, ah ! Yes, he shuddered at the
thought — a murderer and an outcast. Where should he
go? What could lie do? He, Pierre Grenier, was a
•criminal ; he, once so respected by his fellow-men. And
he would be taken, worst of all, he would be put in
prison ; they would shut him up. Ah ! he could not

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

41

the

bear that, he would go mad ; he could not live if he
were shut up even for a day. He, child of nature,
loved the river and the woods ; prized above all things
his liberty to come and go as he wished. No, he would
•^0 far across the sea, far from all who knew him. But
Julie — he must see her once again, must tell her that
he did not mean to kill that man who had lied about
his visit to the point.

It was dusk, now. He could safely venture to cross
to Cic, so he again launched his bark and paddled
through the dark waters. Fastening the canoe securely
on the beach, he walked up the narrow path, and soon
found himself outside Madame Lafleur's little garden.

CHAPTER lY.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another I for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams.
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light.
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain.

Matthew Arnold.

MADAME Lafleur's cottage was well hidden from
the road by the luxuriantly foliaged apple trees
which surrounded it, so that Pierre felt certain he could
approach without being perceived by any one passing
on the main road. The night was clear, the moon had
not yet risen, but there were many bright stars twink-
ling over head, and shining brilliantly in the clear
Canadian atmosphere. The difficulty was to make Julie
aware of his proximity without alarming her suddenly,
or allowing his presence to be discovered by any one
else. There ! he could see shining like a beacon through
the shade of the orchard, the light in the kitchen win-

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOVSE.

4r

dow ; the blind was not drawn down, and, ah ! now he
could see Julie herself moving about busily amongst
the dishes which she had finished washing and was
putting away in the old-fashioned cupboard fastened to
the wall on one side of the room. And there was
Madame Lafleur fast asleep in her great red and black
striped rocking chair. He knew of old that nothing
short of an earthquake could awaken her from her after
supper nap. Julie had nearly finished her task —now
was his opportunity, for come what might, he must
speak to her to-night ; he must endeavor to clear him*
self in her eyes, at least of guilt of the hasty and ter-
rible act he had committed, for at the sight of her sweet,
pure face, a great rush of love and tenderness came
over hira, and a wild longing seized him to go to her,
confess his sins, and be assured of her forgiveness.

He tapped on the window-pane, and at the unex-
pected sound, the girl started and grew pale, nearly
dropping the tea-cup she held. But she recovered
quickly, for country nerves are not easily shaken, and
came to the window, opened it, and saw Grenier.

" You, Pierre?" she cried. "Are you mad to come
here ? Don't you know they are after you ? The whole
village has turned out in pursuit."

*'I don't care, Julie, they will not know I am here ; I
have come to say good-bye ; I shall not be taken ; I

44

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

iimiiil '^

iit!

Ki'li'l"

[|i!il!i!ij

11

I

mw

have my canoe, and can go to the other side of the
river, where no one knows me. I can stay among the
Indians for a time. But Julie, I could not go without
seeing you first."

"But, my poor Pierre, you cannot talk here, my
mother will hear you and some one may come into the
house at any moment. Go back to th e orchard, the
trees are thick there, {»ud no cue can see you from the
road. Now, quick, go ; I will ujilow you."

He had but regained his hidinj^ place a moment
•when she came to him, and now he could see that her
face was very white, and her eyes red and swollen
with tears."

" Oh, Pierre," she said, " I have so longed to see you.
I did not believe them when they told me. I have been
hoping to see you, and to hear from your own lips that
you did not kill Jean Pinsonneault. I told them it
was not true, and that I did not believe their wicked
tales, and I sent them from the house. I would not
listen."

" Julie," he said slowly, as if pronouncing his own
death-warrant, "Julie, it is but too true, they were
right. Friends, ah ! I suppose were the first to tell you,
they always are ; bah ! it is their way — they love to
gloat over their friends' misfortunes. Yes, shudder, turn
away. I knew you would hate me, Julie."

11'

iiiiiiiliiyi

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT nOUSE.

4(^

" I do not hate you, Pierre," she whispered.

"You will, though. Yes, I did kill Pinsonneault,.
though heaven knows that T did not intend it. He
attacked me before a dozen people, and said that I stole
Wilson's treasure, and he bribed old Jacques to tell lies
of me. I was wild, I could not bear his sneering
words, and his taunts raised up all the devil within me.
I was reckless, Julie, I hated the man, I hate him yet,
but I swear to you, that mad with anger as I was, I had
no intention of even striking him until he grasped my
arm. Julie, I was wild with rage : I could not measure
the force of my blow, and then he dropped down dead*
It was terrible to see him lying there, cold and still, his
white face looking up at me, and seeming to say, ' now
you have done yoiir worst ' ; it haunts me now, Julie,
and it will to the end of my life."

He shuddered, and broke down completely, for the
strain of the day was telling on him at last, and as he
sobbed bitterly, his whole frame was convulsed and
trembling.

'' My dear one," said the girl, placing her cool hand
on his forehead, " my dear one, do not give way like
this. Pierre, I do not hate you ; what a poor thing my
love would be, if it could change like that. You must
believe once and for always, Pierre, that I love yon with
my whole heart and soul, and even had you intention-

■jl ii

46

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE,

HllJiiiiilliil

i:illi:"ilii

,,nJl!!ii

•I

lliilli

ally done this dreadful thing, I could not change to
you."

He looked up gratefully at her ; for the first time for
many an hour a ray of hope dawned on his horizon.
She went on, —

" But you must not be taken though, you must
escape. Listen, I have suddenly thought of a plan.
Pierre, to-night, T know, for Guillaume the pilot told me,
there is a steamer expected from Quebec. It will
stop at Father Point to let oif the Quebec pilot, at about
four o'clock this morning. Now, you have your
canoe ? "

"Yes."

" "Well, you must start almost at once, paddle down
the stream and watch for the steamer. Wait, though,
till the pilot boat gets off, then you will be able to slip
on board in the darkness, for she will not put on full
steam for a moment after the pilot goes, and then you
can ask the Captain to take you across. It is a small
ship, and there will be no difficulty."

" But, Julie, he will surely refuse ; I have no money
here, and I cannot go back to my house."

" Stop, I have thought of all that. Wait a moment,

I have a little money in my room, I saved it last

year. You must take this, and it will pay your way

cross the Atlantic. Once on the other side, you will

thing

:

ge to

ne for
)rizon.

must
I plan,
old me,
Lt will
t about
3 your

down
hough,
to slip
on full
en you
a small

money

loment,

1

it last

I

ur way ^|

ou wil

■

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIQIIT HOUSE. 0

easily get work. You remember Jacques and Jean
Lamontagne, who got carried over last year, when it
was too stormy to let the pilots off. Well, they told me
that they got good wages in Liverpool all winter. You
are a better workman than they, and you will have no
difficulty in getting work. Pierre, my dear one, it
breaks my heart to have you go, but it is better than
having you taken and shut up in prison. Now, wait
here till I come back ; I shall not be a moment."

" Julie, I cannot take your savings. It is generous of
you, but I can not rob you in this way."

" Pierre, what is the use of my money if I cannot
help you. Wait, I shall not be long."

She was gone before he could reply, but the unhappy
man felt cheered by her words and faith in him.
Wliile Julie loved and trusted him, there was still hope
left in the wide world ; the touch of her cool hand on
liis heated brow had seemed to take away the raging
fever of his brain, and the memory of her words fell
like soothing balm on his anguished spirit.

" But, how long the girl was coming back, had any-
thing happened to her ; how had she been detained ?
Ah ! the moon was up now, he could see distinctly all
over the garden, but through the thickly wooded orchard
no flutter of Julie's white gown was visible. Why did
f?he not return ? Surely there was so little time that

48

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

ii!illi!i|ilii!!;i

they could spend together, that every moment was pi(3-
cious. He must venture out, he would risk it, there
was no danger now, the village was all asleep, and not a
soul had passed by on the road. Yes, he wouhl venture
once more to the kitchen window, and see what was
detaining Julie. For one instant of time the moou
shone out brightly, then it was overcast by a thick, dark
cloud. Now was his chance, he stepped forward quickly,
reached the window, and raised his arm to tap on the
pane, when a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and
a gruff voice said,

" Pierre Grenier, I arrest you in the name of the
Queen, for the murder of Jean Pinsonneault. You must
come with me."

' I

itfiiii

Mm

,vm

m

:ii

! " Yo

~ nothing

i " Do

I "We

^ sisters,

visions

knittjnf

hut eacjj

,' 1

there

not a

nture

: was

moon

, dark

lickly,

>

on the
ir, and '*

i s

CIIArTEU V. *. :.

" Friendship is peldom truly tried but in extremes. To find
friends when we have no need of tlieiii, and to want ihein when
we have, are both alike easy and comuion," — Feltham.

Y dear Captain Sniythe, I am goiuL? to have my
own way this time. I am tired of everything,
and I'm determined to have a change ; everything
wearies me completely, and I'm satiated with dinner-
parties, teas and gossip, and all the pomps and vanities.
I'm going to devote myself to good works, for a
chaime."

"You will tire of them pretty soon, too. I know of
notliing so fatiguing as philanthropy."

" Do you speak from experience ? ''

" Well, ah ! no, not exactly, but each of my eight
sisters, in turn, tried that sort of thing, carrying pro-
visions to old women, in baskets, over muddy roads,
knitting stockings, and reading to them, and all that,

but each of them got tired of it except the one who

4

i

m

so

THE KEEPER OF DIC LIGHT HOUSE.

married the curate of the paiish, and she will have to
ply the philanthropic role all the rest of her life," replied
Obptain Smythe, in his slow, drawling tones.

" Oh, well," said Mrs. Fitz-Robinson, " my philan-
thropy is more interesting than that, besides, I think 1
Tiave a righteous cause, and in spite of what you all
say, I am going to interest myself in this girl, and
exert all the little influence I possess in helping her."

" I'm sure I wish you every success, thousjh I'm ex-
tremely doubtful about it. You see, I , I don't

believe in women, especially women like you, mixing
themselves up in such matters, and people are saying
that you do it just for the sake of notoriety. No, I
don't like it."

"That is because you are a little behi-^d the age,, you
know ; though of course there is some excuse for you.
You are an Englishman, and don't understand that our
opinions go for much more on this side of the Atlantic
than on yours.''

" That may be so, but I don't want you to be involved
in a losing game, for losing it is sure to be, and I am
perfectly sure that Mr. Fitz-Robinson will not approve
of it."

" There you are mistaken again, for he does, and he
will," replied pretty little Mrs. Fitz-Robinson, triumph-
antly," he approves of everything I do, and what is

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

51

more, he says he will help me in every way he can, so
there vou see you are wrong again."

"C , ^ suppose it is all right in that case, and I have
nothing more to say about your new freak, but I am
very tired of hearing about these people, and prisons
ami disagreeable matters in general. Let us talk about
something else. Are you going to the opening of Par-
liament on Thursday week? "

" Yes," answered the lady, " I always put in an ap-
pearance at that funrtion, thougli I must say it is rather
a bore " array one's self in evening dress in the middle
of til _;' ; still, you know it is the correct thing for
all the ministers' wives to go."

" I suppose there will be any amount of gaiety here
this winter," went on the Englishman.

"Oh, a fair amount, I suppose, but you, at any rate,
as cikJc dc camp to His Excellency, will have your hands
full, and 1 hope you will bear your heavy responsibilities
better than your predecessor did. The mistakes he
made were something appalling. Whenever I think of
them, even in church, I find myself going into fits of
laughter — internal, of course."

*' Why, what did he do ? "

"What did he not do? That question would be
be more to the point. His sins were chiefly those of
omission. When he first arrived on the scene, he abused

ft

i

i

62

IIIE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

iisiiii

Canada and everything Canadian. Then, you know, he
had the sending out of the invitations, and he used to
get them wofully mixed up. Once tliere was a grand
dinner-party given by the Governor-General, and this
youth sent out the cards — amongst them one to poor
Mr. Beverley, and his wife, who has been dead for five
years. Mr. B. wrote and exphiined, but next time the
invitations came for his wife all tlie same, and tlie
afflicted widower's harrowed feelings could bear the
strain no longer, and he went himself to the aide de
cam}) and protested. Apologies were of course made,
and when the official next sent in his official corrected
list of guests, he wrote to enlighten his secretary : * Mrs.
Beverley still dead.' That was what he considered a
good joke, but we did not see it in the same light."

Captain Smythe laughed.

" Yes," continued Mrs. Fitz-Eobinson, " I could go on
for hours telling you of his silly mistakes, and I assure
you when he returned to his native country, we were
all delighted to speed the parting lest. We Cana-
dians, you will find, are very inde xident, and resent
any slights such as this young sprig of nobility seemed
to enjoy putting upon us. I warn you in time, so that
your career may be a more brilliant and successful one."

The above conversation took place in Mrs. Fitz-
Eobiuson's pretty house in Ottawa. This lady was the

J

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

6r

go on
assure
were
Cana-
reseiil
eemed
0 that
■I one."
Fitz-
as the

wife of the Hon. Peter Fitz-Ilobinson, one of the
Canadian statesmen. A good many people generally
dropped in on Wednesday afternoons, on which day
Mrs. Fitz-Eobinson was always at home, for this was
one of the show houses in the capital, and its mistress
was a charming, if somewhat unconventional, hostess.
It was early yet in the afternoon, and Captain Smythe,
tlu; new aide cle camp to the Governor-General, was the
only visitor. To tell the truth, this young man had
found time liang very heavily on his hands since his
arri\iil from England a few weeks before, and spent a
great part of every day in the Honorable Peter's house,
and when she had time to attend to him, he found the
honorable Peter's wife a very puzzling, albeit interesting,
character.

She was so refreshingly original, she did not bow
down and worship at his shrine, as did most of the
women he knew in England, for he was a professional
beauty in his way and very conscious of the fact, and
he had an extremely captivating manner of singing
doleful songs with a tenor voice and a woe-begone air,
which had proved disastrous to the peace of mind of
many a fair and foolish British maiden.

Though Mrs. Fitz- Robinson considered that the
latest importation needed much snubbing, she still al-
lowed him to wile away his spare time in her house,

'HS'SBtra '

54

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIGHT HOUSE.

'■A

1

1

which was from cellar to garret a thing of beauty, for
both the minister and his wife spent much time and
money on its embellishment.

The drawing room in which the hostess sat this after-
noon was a very dainty apartment, its windows looking
out on the high cliffs of the Ottawa River, now frozen
hard and white. Even on this mid-winter day, however,
the windows were garlanded with Spanish jessamine,
growing in great Dresden boxes, and the walls and
ceilings were covered with soft silken material of palest
pink, like the first flush of early dawn, interwoven with
threads of silver. A chandelier of pink Venetian glass
formed to represent clusters of convolvuli, hung from
the ceiling, and all the sofas, arm chairs and rocking
chairs, for which Mrs. Fitz-Robinson had a great
fancy, were upholstered in pale pink velvet, embroid-
ered with silver in quaint fantastic patterns. The floor
was covered with great white bear rugs, the gifts of
one of her husband's sporting friends. Nowhere in
the room was any wood work visible, even the framts
of the long narrow mirrors were swathed in pink velvet,
and in each corner and niche of the windows were
placed pink marble statues by Coustcn. Under the
chandelier stood a round console table draped with
cloth of silver of the Fifteenth Century, and on it
stood a great pot of pink camellias in full bloom.

THE KEEPER OF DlC LIGHT HOUfSE.

5S-

That all might be in keeping with the roseate hues-
of her surroundings, Mrs. Fitz-llobinsou had arrayed
herself in a picturesque tea-gown of softly falling pink
silken stuff, lavishly ornamented with lace, yellow from
ai,'e, and, in truth, she looked a very charming picture
'ssiding at her tea-table, covered with its dainty egg-
bhell China cups and saucers and spirkling service of
silver and crystal. Looking at her, one could hardly
blame the Hon. Peter for thinking everything she did
was perfect, although she occasionally did very un-
conventional things, and had an enthusiastic warm-
hearted way of taking up people in misfortune, which
caused her to be hardly judged by the good Pharisees,
whose pulses never C|uickened at the sight of distress,,
and wliose holy eyes were cast heavenwards in saintly
expostulation at many of the little lady's oid freaks.
lUit she did not care and went on her way smilingly,
idways makins; new resolutions and as often breaking
tliem. Everything and everybody all her life-long had
combined to spoil lier ; to begin with she was an only
(laughter, and then when she was but nineteen
Mr. Fitz-Eobinson, a man many years her senior,,
had married her, and had allowed her to do just aa
she pleased ever afterwards, so that tlie many good
points in her character had never been brought out nor
sternly chiselled by adversity. In spite of all her

«6

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

spoiling she was a very lovable little woman, very
fond of enjoying the good things this life offered her
in such abundance, but never callous to snfforing, nor
hardened by her prosperity, and with the younger
members of the community in the Dominion Capital
she was extremely popular.

Towards five o'clock her drawing room became
crowded with people coming in on their way from tlie
rink, to gossip and partake of tea and thin bread and
butter. Bright-eyed maidens, with their cheeks glowing
and rosy, after skating in the bracing wintry air,
chatted gaily and discussed the probabilities of a gay
season. In fact everything was fully talked over, from
tlie latest English visitors at Government House to the
frills on Lady K's new gown. The young people were
trying hard to prevail upon Mrs. Fitz-Robinson to give
her usual ball this winter, for she had declared that she
was going to give up such frivolty.

" You know," said a tall, rosy cheeked girl, a true
Canadian type, " you know it is my first winter out
and I had counted on your ball to make my debut, but
now you devote all your time to tliis French friend of
yours. I am sure I am us worthy an object for your
■charity as she."

" I suppose after all I shall have to give in," said
Mrs. Fitz-Robinson, sighing, " especially as we have

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

57

just received letters of introduction from friends in
England, sent to us to-day by a Lord Camperdown.
lie must be in Ottawa. Do you know anything of
him, Captain Sinythe ?" " ' . > ■ .

" I ? Yes, of course I do. He is a visitor at Gov-
ernment House."

" What, that pompous looking man I saw with the
Gnveniment House people in town yesterday ?" asked
the L;irl, who was anxious to have the ball given. He
lo)ks as if lie had swallowed a poker."

" Yes, that's the very man. He is going to be out
here all winter ; he has some land in the Northwest
and has to look after it, but he will make Ottawa
his heathpiarters," replied Captain Smythe, laughing."

" I'm sure by his appearance he will be a great ac-
quisition to us," said the girl sarcastically.

" My dear," remarked an elderly lady, Mrs. Green
by name, who had hitherto kept silence. " My dear,
yen must remember that he is a member of the British
aristocracy. He's fifth Viscount Camperdown, you
know."

" Well, what of that ? I maintain that he is a very
ridiculous individual, and I don't care whether he is a
dozen Lords rolled into one ; that would not alter my
opinion in the least." '

Mrs. Green looked shocked and said reprovingly in a

mi^mmm

M

TBI! KEEPER OF £IC LIGHT HOUSE.

Itl

ill

solemn tone as if she were delivering a funeral oration :
** My dear, you are very young. You have, I'm afraid,
since you were in New York, imbibed some of those
horrid Eepublican ideas, but as you grow wiser you
will learn to reverence our beautiful aristocracy. VVhy,
Lord Camperdown's ancestors came over with William
the Conqueror.

" How do you know that ?" asked Miss King.

" How do I know it ?" said Mrs. Green, looking-
round deprecatingly. *• How do I know it ? Why,
have I not lor years studied the peerage an 1 foUowei
the movements of these people wherever they went.
When my grandfather was knighted by George the
Fourth our family were intimately connected with
all the aristocracy and we have kept up our connec-
tions ever since — why Lady Tweedledee writes to me
every Christmas in her own beautiful hand writing,
and the Marquis of Noacres always sends over a bunch
of dried shamrocks on St. Patrick's Day, and" — •

" For goodness sake stop that woman's reminiscenses,"
whispered Mrs. Fi'.z Robinson to Miss King. " Give
her this tea, tell her to try my plum cake, anything, or
we shall have anecdotes both of the whole upper ten
thousand at home and abroad related to us."

Miss King obeyed, inquiring if the lady took sugar
and cream in her tea.

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

W

K 'M

" Cream, please, my dear, no sugar ; nobody who is
anybody takes sugar now-a-days. I like it, you know,
but last time I took tea with thedenr Countess of Lang-
lois, she said in surprise, when I asked for sugar : 'My
dear, it is very vulgar to take sugar, you must break
yourself of this bad habit, now do for my sake.' "

" Very rude of the Countess, I am sure," said the
girl. " Most probably she wanted to economize ond
told you that, but you needn't mind that here. Mrs.
Fitz-Eobinson will let you have as much as you want."^

" No, never," said Mrs. Green, heroically : " Never
will I break the sacred promise I gave my noble friend*
To my dying day I will drink my tea unsweetened."
Fearing more endless repetitions of the sayings of the
nobility, Mrs. Fitz-Eobinson hastily interrupted the
loquacious lady, saying :

" I suppose, after all, the best way of entertaining
this Lord Camperdown, will be to give a ball, for we
must show him some civility. He is a great friend of.
Mr. Fitz-Eobinson's cousins, in London, and they asked
us to be kind to him."

"What, are you going already, Captain Smythe, and
you, too, Mary ? "

" Yes," replied Miss King, " we dine early, you know,
and my father is very punctual Good-bye, Mr. Fitz-
Eobinson ; good-bye, Mrs. Green — now do take sugar

WS'

Mm

e)"

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

w

in your tea in future. I am suro. Lady Tweedledee or
the Countess would grant you absolution if you told lier
how VL'ry fond of it you are."

' Very soon, all were gone, and the uiistraies of the
house was left alone. She was one of those people wlio
hated being alone, and now she glanced at the clock on
the mantelpiece to see if there was time before dinner
to call on her latest friend. It was only six o'clock,
there was fully an hour and a half, for the much worked
minister was usually detained till after seven. She
rang the bell, and ordered her sleigh to be got ready at once,
and hastily dressed herself in a long, fur cloak and cap.

" Drive to 107 Vittoria street," she said to the
coachman. Twenty minutes later he pulled up at a
poor-looking house, in one of the back streets of the
city, and Mrs. Fitz-Robinson alighted, and inquired for
Mdle. Lafleur.

" Yes," she is in, said the slipshod house-keeper who
•came to the door. " Will you go up to her room ? It
is at the top of the house."

Mrs. Fitz-liobinson ascended the shaky staircase and
entered Julie's room, which had the appearance of being
better than the rest of the cheerless house, for the girl
had brightened it by covering the furniture with pretty,
bright chintz and lace, and hung clean, white curtains at
the window. • . . . •

i

I

i

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

61

*' Ah, inadame," she said, rising from the table at
^vhich she had been writing : " Ah, madame, it is good
of you to come to me. Take this chair it is the most
comfortable in the room."

The girl had changed a great deal since we last saw
her in Bic ; she had lost her bright, careless expression,
which had been her chief attraction there, but her face
had gained a more matured, if chastened, beauty, and
there was a pathetic appeal in her great, dark eyes.
She was thinner, too, and tlie color in her cheeks was
har.lly so bright as when she weeded her garden in the
bracing atmosphere of her native St. Lawrence, for city
Hfe and its conventional ways had oppressed her, but at
the sight of her friend, her pale face lightened up, and
her old animation, for the time, returned.

" Yes, madame," she said, " I think I have improved
tlie room. It was very bare and cold, and it did not
take long to cover these chair« — it reminds me of

hon

le.

" It is very pretty, Julie, but I can only stay with
you a few moments. I have been wondering what had
become of vou. I have not seen you for more than a
week. How have you been getting on ?"

" Oh, just the same as ever, madame."

''And what news of Pierre V' • -

" Hc! has been very ill lately, Madame. The prison

mmv.

€2

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

doctors fear that he will go into consumption. The
confined life has been telling on him. I am very
anxious."

" You must cheer up, Julie," people always exagger-
ate in letters, and things may not be as serious as they
appear. You know, Julie, my husband takes quite an
interest in you and Pierre, and he is almost sure that
we shall get him released on the plea of extenuating
circumstances. Now all depends on you, and you must
be brave and cheer up. You look very white, and you
need a change. Now, I am going to give a ball next
week, and I want you to help me with the decorations.
Will you come ? Did you ever see a ball, Julie ?"

" No, madame, never. I have seen them dance on
Saturday evenings, at Bic, in the school- room, but they
did not call that a ball." '

"No, I should think not, said her friend, smiling.
Well; you will see mine, and that will amuse you. Bv
the way, have you heard from that nice priest, who is
so kind to you ? "

" Oh, yes, madame — see, here is a letter. It came by
this morning's post."

" Eead it, please."

The girl obeyed, and read M. Gagnon's letter, which
ran as follows : —

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

63

"My dear Julie:
" I liave just heard of the arrival in Ottawa of a man whom
they call Lord Camperdown. I knew him long ago, and have
maay claimfl on his consideration. He is influential, and may be
able to help you, as he is a guest of the Governor-General. If
you cannot obtain an introduction to him in any other way, send
him the enclosed note, and then he will not refuse to see you. We
are still searching for the treasure, and I believe at last we have
eonie clue to its discovery."

With, every good wish,

Believe me,

Sincerely yours,

A. Gagnon,

Pretre,

" That is a curious letter, remarked Mrs. Fitz-Robin-
son. What can M. Gagnon know about this Lord
Camperdown ? You will have no difficulty in getting
an introduction to him, for I can manage that. But of
couise if the treasure ia found, that will practically
smooth matters for us, and make it more easy to obtain
pardon for Pierre. A murder committed in a moment
of anger, and a murder committed in order to silence
the victim and conceal a theft, are two very different
things. But you must keep up your courage, Julie, for
I am certain all will yet be well. Now I must go.
Don't forget to come on Thursday."

It was now three years since Pierre had been taken
from Bic, and during these three years there had not
been a day that Julie Lafleur had not thought of him.

!>ii

!1i

II
1^'

■1'

a

iiii

1

1

64

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIQIIT HOUSE.

;IRI

If ;

■ ;''
It

It'

and prayed forliim before the altir of the little village
churcli, for in these remote districts the rush of
modern life and thou<^ht had not as yet induced that
feverish restlessness, wliich is the baiie of oui nim--
teenth century life. There tlie good people in their
primitive way were simple and niitund, and lived their
lives out in unrullled calm. They went to mass regul-
arly, they believed firmly in all the saints, no problems
of modern unbelief vexed theii' lieiu.; or wrinkled their
brows with vain imaginings and doubts. Tliey were
good, they were happy, they were kind hearted and un-
sophisticated, as are the French-Canadians on the
shores of the great river, and tlii^y were, oh ! blessiil
characteristic, content. And, as in their religion, so
were they in their affections — constant. It never oc-
curred to Julie, as it mi<^ht have done to a town-bred
maiden, that now her lover was unfortunate, there was
no reason that she should be faithful to him. It is to
be feared that Julie was far fiom being nineteenth
century in her ideas, and she clung to his memory
with a devotion touching as it was rare. But she
could not idly fold her hands while he suffered, and she
felt that she must act in some way, though at first her
thoughts about the course she ought to take were very
vague. M. Gagnon tried hard to change the current
of her ideas, for he saw that she was becomins][ morbid
and feared for her health.

I i»g, <

THE KEEPER OF DIG LIGHT HOnSE.

e^

"Julie," he said to her one day, " yo i must take
heart. Suppose we all succumbed, as you do, to
our individual sorrows, what a world this would be."

" M. le curd," she answered him, abruptly, " can you
not let me go in peace ? Do I trouble anyone ? I do
not cry aloud. I do not talk to you of Pierre Grenier,
tlioui^h Heaven alone knows that I think of him evkiy
houi of my life. Yes, M. Gagnon, I picture him toil-
ing, toiling, day after day, week after week, year after
ye.'ir, in that prison. Pierre Grenier shut up witliin
four walls lor ever, thinic of it ! He who loved the
woods, who hated to be indoors ! Oh, it makes me
wild."

" ]My child you must be patient."

"lUh!" she said, disdainfully, "patient. You do
not understand. You are good, of course. You are a
priest, but I am human, and T tell you M. le cure that
I would rather share that prison, terrible as it is, with
Pierre Grenier, than live in a palace without him ; yes,
a '1 ^ >re than that, I would not go to Heaven without

.., but wi him I should consider the place of
i^nnishuient a happy spot."

M. le curd was deeply shocked at the girl's sudden
outbreak, and replied reproachfully :

" My poor cliild. Is this all my teaching has done
for you ? My child, _ jrhaps the good God saw that

>f\ .[11

W

€6

TUE KEEPER OF BIG UGRT HOUSE.

you were setting up an idol in his place, and removed it
from you ?"

Julie took no notice of M. le curb's remark, and the
good man decided that unless something could be done
to divert her thoughts from one channel she would uo
out of her mind. But he was mistaken. This was
the first and only time she had given v/ay to her grief,
and, after this one outburst, she never spoke again iti
this manner. Few knew of the long hours, when all
the village was asleep, she spent before the high altar
m the church, praying for the release of Pierre Grenier.
An idea had been firmly taking root in her mind that
she might become the instrument of his return to
liberty, and this grew to be a sort of craze with her.
She sold her poultry, eggs, and flowers (though her
mother sometimes remonstrated at her denying herself
little luxuries) and thus earned many a dollar, which she
hoarded with a miser's care.

From Pierre directly she heard but little. He was
sometimes permitted to write to her, but his letters
were very short and had little news of himself in them.
There was a despondent ring about them, like the song
of a wild bird caged, and drooping and pining for the
woods and rivers and clear bracing air of the Canadian
forests. After he had been at tlie prison for three
years, an outbreak occurred one day amongst the con-

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

67

victs and Pierre had been instrumental in quelling it,
and was highly commended by the authorities for his
courage. The newspapers gained possession of the story,
as they do now-a-days, and it was exaggerated of course,
but in Pierre's favor, and his whole past career was
told afresh, thus rousing much sympathy in his behalf.

It was during the same summer that Julie made the
acquaintance of a young American lady, who had come
to Bic for July and August, and this lady had taken a
great fancy to her, not only because of her history but
because of a certain attractiveness about the girl her-
self. It was she who suggested that Julie might suc-
ceed better if she could be enabled to appeal herself, to
the highest authorities in the land, and with that facility
for undertaking new enterprises which belongs to her
nation, the bright American said she was quite ready
to accompany Julie to Ottawa if she would go. At
that time it so happened that the wife of the Governor-
General was a certain Eoyal Princess, equally famed
for her benevolence and kindliness of heart.

" And why shouldn't we appeal to her ?" the Ameri-
can said.

" Well, you know," replied the cure, who happened to
be present, " our high personages are rather diflicult to
approach, and I don't know whether the Princess would
)iave any influence, supposing, even you did succeed in

68

IRE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOU^E.

I'll

1

obtaining an audience. You know we don't think so
much of influence as you Republicans do," with mikl
sarcasm.

" Well, I don't care, we can only fail," the fair Repub-
lican retorted. "And if I were Julie, I would leave no
stone unturned. Julie, when can you be ready to start ?
you see it will be better to go while Pierre's late
achievement and courage are still fresh in the public
mind."

" Oh I I can go any day you like," said Julie, for the
first time in many a month, showing some sign of
animation.

So it came to pass that one September day, Julie and
her newly found friend set out for Ottawa, armed with
a few letters of introduction from M. le cure.

Many had been the obstacles in their way, First of
all, old Madame Lafleur strongly objected to her daugh-
ter undertaking the long journey, then the expense
was more than Julie could afford, and M. le cur^ was
inclined to throw cold water on the scheme.

But the American overcame these objections, and
opened her own well-filled purse to Julie, and after a
journey up the river by boat, and a short stay in
Quebec, they arrived safely in the Dominion Capital.

But here new dilficulties beset their path. Most of
the influential people were out of town, it would bo

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIGHT HOUSE.

69

some months before Parliament would open, and till
then Julie could hardly hope to eftect much.

At first the novelty of her surroundings amused and
interested her, but as this wore off she found time hang
very heavily on her hands and grew despondent. Her
friend was called away suddenly by the illness of her
mother in New York, and she was left alone in a little
lodging in Ottawa. But before the American girl left,
she discovered that she had an old school- fellow living
in the town, who had married one of the ministers.
They met by accident in che street, and the minister's
wife, Mrs. Fitz-Robinson, had become much interested
in the French-Canadian girl's history, and in her
enthusiastic manner was very kind to her after her
American friend had gone home, and often had her
at her house, and endeavored to make the weary
months of waiting pass more quickly.

ix^

l!

CHAPTER VI.

Tne flowers all are fadirg,

Their sweets are rifled now ;

And night sends forth her shading

Along the mountain brow ;

The bee hath ceased its winging

To flowers at early morn :

The birds have ceased their singing,

Sheaf'd is the golden corn ;

The harvest now is gathered,

Protected from the clime ;

The leaves are sere and wither'd

That late shone in their prime."

Ousely.

AS soon as his trial was over, Pierre Grenier had been
taken to Montreal, and thence to the penitentiary
of St. Vincent de Paul. A more dreary day than that
on which he arrived at the prison, could scarcely be im-
agined. The rain, on this N"ovember afternoon, was
pouring down in torrents, and the journey from Mont-
real to the French village where the penitentiary is
situated, was prolonged for three hours, owing. to an
accident on the line. All this weary time the unhappy

J

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

71

man and his guards waited between Montreal and their
destination, and a journey which is generally accom*
plished in an hour, occupied the whole afternoon.

At length they arrived at the station of St. Vincent
de Paul, and here a carriage from the prison was await-
ing them. The rain still poured down, and it was^
intensely cold at this unsheltered place. The ram-
shackle conveyance, hardly to be dignified by the name
of carriage, was dragged along by a horse that seemed
to have lost all his vitality, and the wheels continually
stuck in the muddy ruts of the rough, uneven road»
the driver and guards being obliged to descend from the
carriage, and by main force push the great clumsy
vehicle out of the slough of mud and water, which
detained it.

During these frequent stoppages, Pierre had plenty
of time to look around him., as he was not allowed to
descend, and the prospect on which he gazed did not
tend to enliven him. Isle Jesus, on which the prison is
situated, is not an inviting spot at any time, and this
afternoon it looked particularly dreary. In the distance
lay tlie dark and narrow streran of the Piviere des
Prairies, wliich runs past the island, and the prisoner
could not help contrasting it with his last glimpse of
his beloved St. Lawrence, as it lay blue, clear and
shining in the bright October sunlight.

72

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

The village throufjh which Pierre and his guards
now passed, was like hundreds of other French Cana-
dian villages in the Province of Quebec, and there was
nothing to characterize it as being the situation of a
great penal colony, till they had driven by most of the
dwelling houses in the principal stragi^liug street. Then
they came to a row of small houses, shaped like enlarged
sentry boxes, and arranged in uniform regularity of
uncompromising ugliness. These were the houses in
Avhich the out-door guards of the penitentiary lived.

At length the walls of the prison itself were reached.
It was a large, grey limestone building, its desolate
app(!arance enhanced by the iron bars across each win-
dow. On their arrival, Pierre Grenier was immediately
conducted to the warden's room and ordered to change
his clothes, and put on the penitentiary uniform, which
consisted of thick, white cotton trousers, a coat, one half
of which was rediiish brown, the other yellow, and a
cap of brown and yellow cloth, with the figures 278
marked on it.

" Pierre Grenier," said the warden, glancing sharply
at him, " henceforth you have no name, you will be
known as number 278."

The prisoner winced at this last humiliation added to
the many he had already borne, and in truth there was
something terrible in this eflaceinent of his individu-

THE KEEPER. OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

73

ality, this loss of the very name by which his fellow
men had known him. Henceforward he was not a man,
he was only a machine known as number 278.

Ijuring these wretched hours, the only comfort he
had was the remembrance of M. Gagnon's last words to
hiu), and the assurance of Julie's constancy and faith in
him. At their last meeting, before he had been taken
to Alontreal, she had resolutely declared that she would
devote lier whole life and energy to obtain his release.
He bad smiled incredulously then, but to-night, in his
dreary cell, he took comfort in the thought that at least
two faithful souls would cherish his memory now that
lie was for ever cut off from the busy haunts of man-
kind.

He looked about his cell in a dazed manner; it
seemed to him that this could not be himself, this was
not Pierre Grenier, who all his free, happy life had come
and gone as he would, controlled by no man. This,
ri(3rre Grenier, in this narrow room, this miserable cell,
twelve feet long and five broad — it could not be. At
nine o'clock he heard the warder come to the door and
lock it on the outside, and no light or sound came to
him from without till five next morning. He might as
well have been on a desert island for all that he could
hear of those about him, and the first night he was shut
in, he felt that he would go mad, all was so still, so

imi' iii

u

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

I '

horribly silent. Well for him that his sentence was not
one of solitary confinement, and that for part of the day
at least he worked amidst his fellow- beings, for how
true is that Italian proverb, which says that the
solitary man is either an angel or a devil ; how few
natures there are which can fall back on their own
resources, and dwell apart in contented loneliness.

At length Pierre fell asleep, and did not waken till
.the guard came at five o'clock, and bade him fall into-
line with the other convicts, to get his breakfast.

The kitchen of the penitentiary was a large, square
room, fitted up with ranges and huge brass pots for
cooking, everything being exquisitely neat and clean.
The prisoners did not take their breakfast together, but
were ail ranged in a line, with their hands on each
others' shoulders, and passed down the corridor outside
the kitchen. Their food was givtfti them through a
wjiidow in the kitchen wall, and each carried it to liis
cell and ate it there. Tiiroughout the institution the
greatest order reigned, and everything was done with
clockwork regularity. Of all the surprising things
Pierre saw in the place, the marvellous contrivance for
opening or locking the cells was the most astonishing.
This was a large iron structure looking like a wheel
without any outer rim, and by turning the spokes of
it, the warden could open or shut every cell in a corridor

1

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

75-

simultaneously, or each separately, at a moment's notice.

After breakfast, number 278 was taken into the chief
officer's room. This official addressed him, saying :

" There is a vacancy now in the blacksmith's shop.
Would you like to enter it ? We require every prisoner
to work, but we allow a choice. As you have been a
blacksmith, you might prefer to tal^e up ,your old
trade."

Number 278 replied hurriedly that he would rather
work anywhere than in the blacksmith's shop, and was
then told that if he wished he could learn carpenterinfr,
for there were several vacancies in that shop. He
answered that he would be glad to learn this trade, and
the guard conducted him through the court-yard and
into another building which was approached by mount-
ing a high flight of stone steps.

At the guard's knock the massive iron door was
opened by a stern-faced warder, who saluted in mili-
tary fashion, and whose appearance reminded one of
that class of Gothic Frenchmen brought to light by the
great revolution. This man opened an inner door and
number 278 and his guard passed into the carpenter's
shop. In this large room there were thirty oonvicts at
work and the new arrival was consigned to the care of
the foreman in order to learn his trade. And here day
after day, month after month, he labored on ; the same

76

THE KEEPER OF DIC LIGHT HOUSE.

,1 ■■/

routine was always followed, and each new day was
exactly like its predecessor.

As time wore on, Pierre became resigned to this
monotonous existence, and he even enjoyed his work,
so adaptive is human nature, but after the first year of
this close coiitinement his health began to suffer and
his friends would have scarcely recognized in the pale
convict, the careless, happy blacksmith who had been
wont to sing so cheerily over his forge at Jiic.

Grenier was a favorite with the warders, who liked
this prisoner, because he never complained, and did his
allotted task diligently and well. He gave them no
trouble and he never attempted to break away, as did
many of the other convicts.

' Only once, since his arrival at St. Vincent de Paul,
had anything happened to break the dull monotony of
his daily life. This was soon after the incarceration of
a notorious burglar named McKenzie, who had already
escaped from two other Canadian prisons. This man
was very powerfully built and of great physical
strength, and was continually giving the warders
trouble, and it always took two or more to overmaster
him when he broke out. Six weeks after McKenzie
arrived he positively refused to do any more work or
to obey any orders, and was consequently locked in the
dungeon in the basement of the establishment. The

THE KEEPER OF DW LIGHT HOUSE.

77

first evening he was imprisoned there he cut the mortar
which surrounded one of the largest stones in the wall
and by means of his great muscular power pushed it
out into the passage and crept through the hole thus
made. All was silent within the jsenitentiary, and
wiih amazing coolness McKenzie arrayed himself in a
giuiid's uniform, which he found hanging in the hall,
and escaped out into the village.

His absence was not discovered till next morning,
when three guards were immediately despatched to
search the whole of Isle Jdsus for him. There had not
been time for him to wander very far, and they soon
came upon and captured him near a swampy wood, on
the liiviere des Prairies side of the island. It was a
matter of some difficulty to take him, for he resisted to
the utmost, knocking down one of the officers with a
desperate blow, which completely stunned him. The
other two men, after a protracted struggle, succeeded
in getting the convict back to the prison, where, just as
they entered the court yard, the other prisoners from
the carpenter's shop were coming across to go to
dinner.

Two of the guards were very pale, and worn out with
their exertions, the third was completely incapacitated
from the blow he had received, but McKienzie seemed
to be little the worse from his exertions.

78

THE KEEPER OF TilC LIGHT HOUSE.

f

I

I

i

Pierre Grenier, as chance would have it, happened to
be standing near the group which was passing in, and
saw the burglar wrench himself away from the two
guards, who lield him on cither side. Quick as light-
ning, McKenzie snatched a truncheon from the right
baud guard and raised it to aim a tremendous l)lo\v at
his head. Grenier saw the unexpected movement, and
dashed forward, regardless of his own peril, and caught
the uplifted arm. McKenzie turned on him fiercely.
Grenier's strength was not by any means what it had
been in the days of his freedom, and it would have
fared badly with him had not a new relay of guards
come up at that moment and soon overpowered Mc-
Kenzie. The incident, insignificant as it appeared at
the time, brought Pierre into favor with the author-
ities, and because of his brave and prompt action a few
little privileges weri granted him, which served to
brighten his long days of captivity. The newspapers
published a detailed account of the affair, and of
course magnified its importance, and public opinion
was largely influenced in his favor. Wisely indeed liad
Julie's shrewd American friend judged when she said
that the time was opportune to pray for his release.

edto
I, and
J two
light-
right
low at
it, and
jauglit
ercely.
it had
\ have
guards
pd Mc
red at
author-
n a few
:vcd to
spapers
and of
opinion
eed liad
die said
ease.

CHAPTER VII.

"All assemblies of gaiety are brought togetlier by motives of the
eaiue kind. The theatre is not filled with those that know or
regard the skill of the actor, nor the ball-room by those who
ilance or attend the dancers. . . . Whatever diversion is costly,
will be Irequented by those who desire to be thought rich, and
whatever has, by any accident, become fashionable, easily con-
tinues its reputation, because every one is ashamed of not par-
taking it." — Johnson.

MPiS. Fitz-Eobinson's annual ball was a feature of
the season, and many a fair young damsel looked
anxiously forward to making her first appearance at it
witli pleasing expectation, so that although the minis-
ter's wife had announced her intention of abandoning
the pomps and vanities of the world, she could hardly
allow herself to doom so many to disappointment. The
evL'ntful night had arrived at last, and every one who
was any one, and a good many nobodies as well, were
invited, consequently the rooms were crowded, and still
^leij^h after sleigh drove up to the door of the minister's

I

8J

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

mansion, and deposited its load of etigcr maidens and
stately dowagers.

Julie Lalleur had been in the house all alternoon,
helping to decorate the rooms and assisting the busy
hostess to add the finishing touches to the wreaths of
roses and evergreens which were hung in garlands on
the walls. When all was ready, the French girl retired
into Mrs. Fitz-liobinson's boudoir, whicii hiid a little
wdndow, whence an excellent vievv of the ball-room was
obtained. This boudoir, of course, was in keeping with
the rest of the house, and was so daintily arranged th;tt
Julie paused, on entering it, for a moment in silent
admiration. It was hung with pure white plush, em-
broidered with wreaths and bunches of violets, nnd all
the chairs and tables were of white lacquered wood,
with Mrs. Fitz-ltobinson's favorite flower, the violet,
artistically painted thereon.

Through a half open doorway she caught a glimpse
of the lady's sleeping apartment, with its couch of
lemon wood, shaped like a gondola, hung with sails of
lemon-colored silk, instead of curtains. As in the case
of the other rooms in th^'s ideal house, the boudoir iloor
was covered with white bear rugs, and gems from the old
masters hung on the walls.

By the time the French girl had fully investigated
the art treasures of her benefactress's sanctum, the

of
eluei

siun
ill [II

CUlib

aiiiin
a dec

■^

THE KEEPER OF UlC LI GUT IIOU^E.

81

ball was at its li(*iglit, and sttaius of delicioiisly dreamy
dance music fell upon her ear uiili s(jft, harmonious
iA -• ; the whole scene was new to her, and conse-
(jiiently delightful. From the little window overlook-
iii" the bail-room, she could see bright faced "iris lloatini;
by, enj'iying to the full the enchantment of the ha^ir>
aiid ihi-re was Mrs. Fitz-Iiobinson herscdf, looking her
best in her new Parisian gown, and not afar off the
lion. Teter, watching her movements with unaffected
admiration.

To tell the truth, Mis. Fitz-liobinson was more thaa
a liitle bored, for although everything was going on
well, and the ball was a decideil success, she liad to be
Very civil to the guest of the evening, Lord Cauiper-
(luwn, and she found it very difficult to entertain him.

Il was indeed a thankless task, for his lordship was
seldom known to make more than three consecutive
reiuaiks, and these were the short, ejaculatory sentences
of "Ah ! " " Yes ! " and " Heally ! " Of course a clever
eloLutionist might put a world of meaning and expres-
sion into these words, but his Iwdship was not clever
ill any way, and Mrs. Fitz-Robinson did not lind the
constant reiteration amusing ; in fact, it wearied and
annoyed her beyond measure. Lord Camperdown was
a decidedly handsome man, of the stolid f^nglish typCj
stiii in the prime of life ; indeed, he did not look

G

«2

THE KEEPER OF BJC LIGHT HOUSE.

over forty, but tl;e peerage set him down as nearer
half a century. His fair hair was scarcely touched
with grey, and his complexion was pink and white as
that of a girl in her teens. This man, his friends were
wont to say, had a conscience clear as the noon-day
sun — nothing ever ruflled him, and he was popular with
most people, for he found life run mucli more smootldy
without troubling to contradict or quarrel with any one,
at any time. He had no strong opinions — religious,
social or political — consequently lie lived a very un-
troubled and calm existence in the busy world of
London. He could not understand the ambitions of
many of his contemporaries, who, though possessed of
ample incomes, could yet take pleasure in working much
harder than their own servants. He never felt a wish
to be at one and part of the great organizations affecting
national life to its very depths, nor to feel himself an
integral part of the great forces which cause humanity
to progress in its onward march. No, he was content
to be a spectator of the great game, and his pulses never
quickened, nor did his brain exhaust itself in working
out problems which it could not hope to understand.
Small wonder, then, was it, that at fifty, Lord Camper-
down looked young and fresh, and that no wrinkles had
marred the serenity of his calmly aristocratic brow.
The lively Mrs. Fitz-Robiuson in vain pointed out

the beau
exhauste
in the va
conversal
sincerely

oce,
tall laily i
women, ai
good joke
"Ah! ^
evening.

"Yes, r
there is 1
little man,
every one
Tnere was
last year, ai
find coat
Ih'own at
cliaracter

i ' iO wa

it?"

Lord Ca
I'nved his
boisterous
for the vul

TRE KEEPER OF BIC LKi'^P HOUSE.

83

the beauties of the Dominion capital to his lordship,
exhausted her small stock of jokes and most of her wit,
in the vain endeavor to amuse this stolid guest. The
conversation continued to be one-sided, and she wished
sincerely that his lordship had remained at home.

'• Sue," .lie said, making a despairing effort, " see that
tall lady in crimson, she is one of our strong-minded
women, and tl • b^st general who was here made a very
good joke about her."

''Ah! yes, really?" remarke<l the guest of the

oveninc'.

" Yes, really," continued Mrs. Fitz-liobinson, " see,
there is her husband — Mr. Brown — that meek, pale
litlle man, you must see him to understand the point ;
every one knows that she rules him with a rod of iron.
Tiiere was a big fancy ball given at Government House,
lust year, and Mrs. Brown looked magnificent in a helmet
and coat of mail, as ' Britannia.' I did not see Mr.
Brown at all in the crowd, and asked the general what
character he represented."

" T!iO waves, I suppose," he answered. Clever, was n't
it ? "

Lord Camperdown smiled serenely. He never al-
lowed his calm dignity to be rallied by anything so
boisterous as a lauifh, no, laughing and v/eeping were
for the vulgar herd ; aristocracy did not permit the

84

'IIJE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

indulgence of sucIj emotional extremes. Surely there
must be an invisible golden coronet on this man's heu'l
reminding him alwnys of his dignity, and even in the
democratic new world he was hedged about with a
stand-off, "I am holier tlian tliou" air, which impressed
many people immen?ely and caused tliem to take him
at his own estimation. But Mrs. Fitz- Robinson was
never impressed by that kind of influence, and as the
evening wore on this member of tlie peerage wearied
her very considerably. He could or would not dance,
but the duties of a hostess obliged her to see that he was
entertained in a manner befitting liis rank. Towards
twelve o'clock she saw him standing alone again at
one end of tlie long ball room, gazing witli languid un-
interested eyes at the merry dancers as they wheeled
round in always varying evolutions. She must rnakc!
another effort, and crossing the room to the cornei'
where his lordship stood, said ; —

" Lord Camperdown, I am afraid you find all this
very tiresome. Would you like to see over the house ?
Everyone seems to be getting on very well and I can
leave the dancing room now. It might amuse you to
see our curiosities. You know both Mr. Fitz-liobinson
and I take a great deal of trouble in arranging this old

r

house."

" Ah ! Heally — yes, I should — ah, like to see it very

THE KEEPER OF lUC LIGHT HOUSE.

85

much," replied his lordship, wishiii:^ that he could go
home and not be bothered any more."

" Then come with nie. I will take you to the pic-
ture gallery. We have just added two or three par-
ticularly good paintings to the collection," she said
leading the way.

Passing through the hall they encountered the Hon.
Fetor, who was discussing the political situation with
two or three ministerial friends, and who paused to ask
where his wife was taking Lord Caniperdown.

"To show him the house and the picture gallery, she
replied.

" That's right my dear, and, by the way, don't forget
the new picture by Jules Brettm. It arrived just be-
fore dinner. I forgot to tell yuu. There wasn't time
to hang it in the gallery, and I told the man to leave it
in your boudoir. Be sure to let Lord Camperdown see
it. It is a splendid bit of color and reminds me of
some scenes in French Canala. That is why I bought

it."
" Ah ! my husband is very patriotic," remarked Mrs.

Fitz-Iiobinson, as she mounted the broad oaken stair-
case, lighted with daik crimsm lamps which threw a
rosy radiance on all around. " He is intensely pa'.riotic.
He lias the most profound br-lief in tin; future of
Canada."

86

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

" Pieally," said bis lordship with faint interest. " Ah I
Very nice, I'm sure." The supper of the future was of
infinitely greater importance to him, and he devoutly
hoped that it was in the near future.

"This is my boudoir," said Mrs. Fitz-Robinson, open-
ing a door on the right hand side of a long corridor on
the second landing. " It is very dark. Just wait a
moment while I turn up the light."

The room was all in shadow except for the fitful glow
from the log fire in the small grate, which shot up sud-
denly as Lord Camperdown glanced towards a large
arm chair where Julie sat sleeping placidly.

"Great Heavens !'Mrs. Fitz-Eobinson, who is that T
he cried in an agitated voice, which contrasted strongly
with his ordinary calm, even tones.

Mrs. Fitz-Ilobinson turned and saw the girl. She
had forgotten all about her. How beautiful she looked
to be sure, as she lay back unconscious of observation
among the \iolet velvet cushions, her golden brown
hair contrasting in rich beauty against the imperial
coloring. The rosy flush of sleep was on her cheeks,
and all trace of care and anxiety had vanislied now.

" That," answered Mrs. Fitz-Robinson, " that is a
little French friend of mine. You seem rather taken
aback, Lord Camperdown. I forgot all about her, else
I would not have brought you in here. Poor girl, she

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

8T

is tired, we must not disturb her. Come away. You
can see the picture an{»tlier time."

She turned the light down again and they went out
as noiselessly as they had come, leaving the room with-
out awakening Julie, who, unaccustomed to late hours,
had lieen very weary and overcome with sleep.

"What on earth is the matter, Lord Camperdown ?'*
his hostess said when they returned to the brilliantly
lighted hall, and she perceived that the fresh color had
left his face, and his eyes had in them a strange, almost
terrified, expression.

" Ah : Ah ! Nothing, that is, ah ! I Iiave a little
weakness about the heart and any excitemei.t upsets
nie verv much."

"You liave had very little excitement this evening.*'

"Ah! yes, pardon me, your delightful ball and all
that," he said, evasively, and then, perceiving the
hardly veiled incredulity in the lady's face, he went
on with the air of a man who resolves to make a clean
breast of it. Ah ! the fact is, my dear Mrs. Fitz-
Piubinson, your friend, the young lady in the boudoir,
reminded me so much of a favorite ah ! er — sister I
lost two years ago and of whom I was very fond."

It flashed across Mrs. Fitz-Ilobinson's mind that she
remembered Mrs. Green assuring her that Lord Camp-
erdown had been an only child, and on matters con-

%8

THE KPJEPFR OF ETC LIGUT HOUSE.

nected with the peerage Mrs. Green never inacle mis-
takes,

" A sister, did you sny ?" she inquirrd rather heart-
lessly.

" Yes, 'er — yes, my sister. I lost ]ier two years ngo
and it was a great shock to me. Yes, I suff'-'r from my
heart, and the slightest thing upsets me."

He looked so very much upset and completely uu-
iiei'ved that Mrs. Fitz-Ilobinson thought he was goinif
to faint, and hastily summoning a servant, ordered a
glass of sherry to be brought him. After drinking this
he seemed better and his fresli color slowly returned.

" I am really sorry you were so upset by the sight of
my little friend, Julie," remarked Mrs. Fitz-Eobinson.
It will be painful, perhnps, for you to meet her again,
and I had hoped to have interested you in her sad his-
tory. LUit you will not be likely to care to meet any-
one \\ho reminds you of your er — cr — sister.''

"Oh, I daresay she is not really like her, it nmst
only have beei. one of those chance resemblances," said
His Lordship, hurriedly.

"Yt'S, I expect if you saw my little French-Canadian
friend from llic closely, you would scarcely see the like-
ness a second time."

What was the matter \^ith Lord Camperdown now?
Why did this n)an come to balls if he was affected in

.1'

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

CO

this ciirions way — he oiiglit to go to a hospital rather,
thoiiLjIit liis puzzled hostess, because for a second time he
orew dea'lly pale, and coidd utter no articulate sound,
though afterwards Mrs. Fitz-Kobinson declared that
the word "]^>ic" proceeded from Ids tightly closed lips.
He came to Idmselfslowly and apologized for alarming
her, bt^u'L'inL]' to be exeuseii. He would not wait until
his sleiL^h came, hut said he would drive to the Yice-
Rei^id resideneein an ordinary one. He was much dis-
tressed at having marred the harmony of her evening,
and tiiially requ<'sted her to make his adieux to the
lid!). re<"er, and assured her tliat he would soon re-
covL'r from his temporary weakness, wliich was aggra-
vated, in all probalility, by the change of climate.

]\rrs. Fit z- Robinson said good niglit with many
expressions of regret and rejoined her other guests.
The ball continued till the small hours of the morn-
iii'j:, and was always looke'l back upon as one of the
best ever given in Ottawa. After everyone had gone,
the host and hostess stood in the empty ball room
talking over the events of the evening and comparing
nott-'S.

" And what did Lord Camperdown think of the new
picture ?" asked Mr. Firz-Robinson, after having with
much patience listened to his vvife's enthusiastic descrip-
tion of Lady N.'s new gown.

90

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

i i

" I don't know. He didn't see it."

"Didn't see it ? I thought, my dear, you took him
specially to look at it ?"

" The poor man got an attack of the heart and had to
go home suddenly. Didn't you miss him at supper ?"

"No. I don't think so. I was busy attending to the
wants of the dowagers and I had not time to miss any-
one.

" My dear," said his wife, musingly, " there is some-
thing very odd about this Lord Catnperdown. Non-
sense, you needn't laugh, I am sure of it ? "

" You are letting your imagination run away with
you as usual."

" I have no imagination, as you ought to know. I
am a thoroughly practical person, but I'm perfectly
convinced that there's some mystery about that man.
By the way, do you remember the otiier day ]\Irs^
Green was here at dinner and she told us about the
pedigrees of all the visitors at Government House ?"

" Yes, of course I do. AYho could forget it? She
talked as usual of nothing but the British aristocracy
the whole evening. I got thoroughly sick of her and
them. But what has that got to do with Lord Camp-
erdown ?"

" Don't you remember she said that she had looked
him up in both Bn^ke and Debrett, as she always does

' VM

TUE KEEPER OF BIC LIQIIT HOUSE.

91

any.

any new arrival, and had found the extent of his rent-
roll, ancestry, and that he was the only child of the
last baron."
" Yes. I remember all that perfectly."
"I'm so glad. I knew I wasn't mistaken," said
the little lady triumphantly. Now, what could be
Lord Camperdown's object in telling me, a perfect
stranger, that he had had a sister to whom he was sa
much attached that a chance resemblance to her made
him faint."

" My dear, if he told you that you may rely upon it,
he told you the truth. Mrs. Green has probably made
a mistake. But, I see you are determined to weave a
romantic history about this extremely commonplace,
elderly gentleman. Wait till to-morrow, for you look
very tired. Now, good night, and don't dream of your
mysterious Lord Camperdown."

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

^M m

- iU |||||22
• t» III 2.0

1.8

1-4 IIIIII.6

««-

VJ

<^

/}

7

^3

o

7

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

a\

iV

^

o

"%

V

A"

o\

W

,.v.

o\

CHAPTER VIII.

!
;
i

I
I ■

t(i

Ceremony keepii up things; 'tis like a penny glass to a rich
€>pirit, or some excellent water ; without it, the water were f^pilt
-and the spirit lost-' — Selden.

JULIE had not waited until the end of the ball, for
she was very much fatigued, and had gone back to
her lonely lodging, slipping away quietly without dis-
turbing her kind friend. When she arrived at the door
of her boarding-house, it was opened to her by her
landlady, who handed her one of those aggravating mis-
sives on yellow paper, folded so ingeniously, and sealed
with a red stamp, that when in a hurry one is always
certain to tear the most important part of the tele-
graphic message. This was exactly what Julie did, and
it took her quite half an hour before she could collect
the scattered fragments and piece them together to
make a consecutive sentence, which ran thus : —

" Good news ; I leave to-day for Ottawa."

M. Oagnoit.

THE KEEPER Of BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

o:^

B8 to a rich
were f^pilt

e ball, for
le back to
hout (lis-
t the door
er by her
Eiting mis-
ind sealed
is always
E the tele-
e dill, and
aid collect
iogether to

(Jagnon.

M. le cur^ leaving for Ottawa, — then the news must
be good, indeed, to justify this important step ; and
JuHl' at once jumped to the conclusion that the long
niissiug pirate treasure must be foun-l. For many a
long night she had not slept so soundly as on that of
Mrs. Fitz-Kobinson's ball, and she dreamed of Bio in
suninier-titue, and thought she was paddling in Pierre's
c;\noe tar out into the waters of the great St. Lawrence,
as she was wont to do before this grief had come upon
her and changed the whole current of her life.

Xext morning, the first thought that occurred to her
was that M. Gagnon would arrive that day — but was
that possible ? She glanced again at the patchwork-
like pieces of the telegram, and saw the date. No, it
was hardly possible that he would come to-day, but she
would go and tell her kind friend, Mrs. Fitz-Robinson,
the news was too good to keep to herself one moment
longer than she could help.

This lady had hardly recovered from her exertions of
the previous night, still she received Julie, and ex-
pressed her delight at the telegram.

" Of course it means that the treasure is found, there
can Ije no doubt of that," she said.

" Do you think so, Madame ? "

" Certainly, I do ; I am sure of it. But M. Gagnon
cannot be here for two or three days yet, and you nmst

■1"

.,

M

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIQUT HOUSE.

not excite yourself, if he does not come for a week. I
always thought, my dear, that things would turn out all
right in the end for you, and now I am certain of it.
Now, Julie, what did you think of my ball ? "

" It was very fine, Madame ; I was quite dazzled,
though ; and the dresses, Madame, oh ! they were
splendid."

" Yes, I think it was a success ; I tried hard enough
to make it so, I'm sure. Now, there is only one more
show I want you to see before you leave Ottawa, and
that is the opening of Parliament. It takes place
to-morrow, in thy Senate-Chamber, and I have got you
a ticket for the gal ery. You may never have an oppor-
tunity again, and it is a sight well worth seeing. I
shall call for you at two o'clock to-morrow afternoon.
and drive you to the House. Must you go, now?
Good-bye, then ; I'm glad to see you in such good
spirits, to-day. Au revoir 1 "

" So it came to pass that Julie Lafleur, on the follow-
ing afternoon, was comfortably seated in a corner of the
Ladies' Gallery, overlooking the Senate-Chamber, and
waiting to see the grand old-world pageantry amidst the
rawness and newness of this continent, which takes
place in Ottawa every year. This particular Thursday
happened to fall on a cold, blustering February day,
when a typical Canadian snow-storm raged without, and

'wm^

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIOIIT HOUSE.

95

veek. I
n out all
.ia of it.

dazzled,
ley were

i enough
)ne more
awa, and
:es place
3 got you
in onpor-
leeing. I
ifternooD)
50, now?
ucli good

le follow-
ler of the
aber, and
midst the
lich takes
Thursday
'uary day,
;hout, and

the wind blew fierce and shrill round the nooks and
<;rannies of the grey stone Parliament Buildings. For
months, this day had been talked about, and many
were the fair dames, from all parts of the vast
Dominion — from Vancouver's Pacific shore, from the
rocky Atlantic coast of Cape Breton and Prince
E(* ward's Isle — who had come to be present at this
political and social function of the opening of Parlia-
ment.

The Senate-Chamber was all li^'ht and color, its
crimson hangings contrasting harmoniously with the
li<;ht gowns of the ladies, and the dark blue and gold
uniforms of the state officials. At three o'clock, a can-
non fired a royal salute from a distant point on the
other side of the river, giving the signal for the entrance
of the Eepresentative of Her Majesty in Canada, who
came attended by his guard of honor and aides des camp^
in the gorgeous paraphrenalia appertaining to vice-
royalty. He took his seat, and round him were grouped
many of those distinguished statesmen whose names
will be handed down to posterity, as the pioneers of
successful national movements in our great Dominion.
There to the right were to be seen the rugged features
of the Premier, standing out a massive figure, clear and
distinct in his striking personality, towering,' over the
iieads of those in front of him. Here to the left, were

i H

9G

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

vaiious picturesque Freuch representatives, remindiii;^
the observer of those stately French counts and uobLs
of the old regime, bowing to their fiiends with courtly
grace. And in little groups further forward, were
seated the judges of the Supreme Court, clad in their
crimson robes, bordered with ermine, and near them,
serving for another contrast, wi^re the high ollicials of
the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches, attended
by minor curates and deans, from outlying districts.

The unsophisticated spectator in the gallery was
vastly amused by the performances of a little gentle-
man in black, who spent all his time in walking across
the floor of the Senate Chamber bowing, as she t) uij^ht,
to no one in particular. He carried a long black stick,
and had Julie been initiated into the manners of ilie
great world, these little bows, so dehghtfully rendered,
must have filled h^r with envying admiration. They
were so regular, so precise, so exc|aisitely self con-
scious.

How could they be otherwise, for was not the whole
house filled with dignified and exalted personages en-
tirely engaged in gazing at this little figure, which ap-
peared to Julie very small, to attract so much atten-
tion. The ceremonies soon came to an end. Parliament
was declared to be opened, all the exalted and non-
exalted people departed, and the ladies were not slow

•'^■

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT llOVSu.

0T

liiidiiiL;
nobles
sou illy
I, were
I their

them,
5ials of
: tended
cts.

ry was
geiiLle-
; across
) aight,
i stick,

of the
iidereil,
They
If cou-

B whole
ifjes eii-
ich ap-
1 atteu-
liameiit
id noii-
lot slow

iu finding their sleighs and driving home through the
frosty air.

Julie had had some dilfieulty in leaving the gallery,
owing to the crowd, and in this way had missed Mrs.
Fitz-Eobinson. The latter, after waiting for a time,
conel- ded that the girl had gone home, and conse-
quently did net look for her.

On emerging from the gallery, Julie missed her way
to the main door and accosted a very polite official, who
guided her and offered to show her the various objects
of interest in the buildings. She willingly accepted
his offer, and the guide proved to be a very efficient one,
for he had been acting as cicerone for many years, and
under his care she saw every nook and cranny in
the magnificent buildings. While in the picturesque
Gothic library, one of the finest examples of that scyle of
architecture in this country, the guide' was called away,
and Julie was again left to herself. It was dusk now
and everyone seemed to liave gone from the place,
except a few late students who were poring over the
old volumes, in a distant corner.

Suddenly, from lier seat, she saw pass by the door-
way the flutter of what she knew to be the black robe
of a priest, and caught a glimpse of the rugged, ascetic
features of Father Gagnon. Yes, she was sure it was

he. He walked in just that quick, jerky way ; ah ! she

i

98

THE KEEPER OF DIG LIGHT HOUSE.

would follow him, he must be starching for her. But
on reaching the main corridor there was no sign of him.
Wherfi could he have gone ? Perhaps he had timed
down this way. She threaded her way through what
seemed to her an endless labyrinth of passages, and felt
bewildered. Wnere could he be ? She was just giv-
ing up in despair* wlien the sound of voices reached her
from a little alcove in a side hall. That was the cure's
voice. Yes, there was no mistaking those clear, tren-
chant tones ; Init there was a note in his voice now
which Julie had never heard before. A stern, tlireai-
ening, angry cadence, and the voice wliich answered
him, though she couhl not distinguish the words, was
equally angry, in its liauglity, sarcastic accents. She
must interrupt them, however ; she must tell the cure
of her presence here.

, *'■ M. Gagnon," she said, stepping forward and holl-
iug out her hand. " ^1. Gagnon, 1 am so glad to see
you. I did not know you had arrived.**

The priest turned sharply round at her words of
greeting, no sign of pleasure in his voice, and the man
to whom he had been speaking looked at the girl
anxiously for an instant and then made a movement as
if he would walk away.

But the curd detained him with a glance, saying :
" No, you do not escape me now. You must answer

w

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIOUT HOUSE.

99

. But
of liim.
trrned
h what
ind felt
List giv-
iied her
e cure's
r, treii-
ice now
threat-
nsweved
irds, was
ts. ^^he
the cure

nd hohl-
id to see

words of
the man
the ^irl
emeirt as

ying:
5t answer

ine after all these years. Julie, my child, I have no
time to attend to you now. Go liome. I will follow
you there." n

She went without a word. It luid been her life-long
custom to obey M. le cur^ implicitly, and she obeyed
him now without hesitating.

" She came opportunely," said M. Gagnon, turning to
iho other, a tall, fresh looking man of about his own
a;^fe, but in marked contrast to him. One might have
served as a model for an early knight of the holy cross,
who had overcome the worhl and tlie pleasures thereof,
his eyes lighted up with enthusiasm for His Master's
cause and the flock which was committed to his charge.
The other was of different "stamp. The world to
him had been a pleasure ground all his life, to take all
the good he could get from it had been the keynote of
his career, and until this moment no Nemesis had
warned him of a coming judgment.

" She came opportunely," repeated the curd

" What do you mean ?" said the other, in his slow,
drawling way.

" I mean that your daughter appeared exactly at the
right moment, guided by the good Providence whish
watches over the desolate and oppressed."

" I am at a loss to understand you, sir. My daugh-
ter, you said ? She is in E-igland, and this young lady

I<'

100

lUE KEEPER OF DIO LIGHT UOUSE.

I never saw before. My dear sir, I think, with all due
respect to your cloth, that you must be mad."

" Herbert Flower, once and for all, I ask you to settle
this matter peaceably. I have no wish to expose you,
though you richly deserve it. But I ask for restitution,
for some signs of contrition on your part. Are you
made of stone ? I could not have believed that human
nature was so false as this."

" My good sir, let me assure you again that you have
made a mistake. I have never seen you before, and
perhaps for your own peace of mind it will be as well
if I never see you again. My poor harmless presence
seems to agitate you, you really look ill."

M. le cur^ had a large stock of patience, but it was
now well-nigh exhausted ; there was something horribly
exasperating in this man's cool, sarcastic words. Could he
have mistaken him — the thought flashed across his mind
but for a moment, to die away as quickly as it had come.

" No, I am not mistaken in you, my lord, as you are
called, now-a-days. I am not mistaken in you, Herbert
Flower, time has dealt too gently with you for that —
you are one of this world's favorites. You feast in high
places, you bear an honored name, while your wife and
daughter are left, for all you know, to starve in the
remote village of Bic."
Not a shade passed over the face of the man he de-

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIQUT HOUSE,

101

nounced. His self-control was wonderful, as he re-
plied :

" I do not know of whom you speak. I know nothing
of that remote v'llage you mention. Allow me to
assure you that Lady Camperdown and my daughter are
both in London at this present moment, and I haven't
the slightest idea about whom you are speaking."

" Herbert Flower, you surpass Ananias and Sapphira,
they were nothing to you, but it is to be war between
us, I see. I am prepared, and you will regret having
defied me. We shall meet again."

The priest walked away, metaphorically, at least,
shaking the dust from his shoes, and the fresh looking
Englishman watched him disappear down the corridor,
and then sighing, as if a weight had been lifted from
his mind, sat down on a bench in the alcove.

" Great heavens," he said, " that was an ordeal, but I
think I came out of it pretty well, considering that it
was so unexpected. Who could have dreamed that the
old fanatic would turn up at this late hour of the day
and recognize me. But I'm perfectly safe, no need to
worry about that. Poor Julie, I wonder how the
governor came to tell me she was dead ; the wish was
father to the thought, I expect. I hope they haven't
got that certificate ; if they have, things mipjht be a little
awkward for me, but I don't think they car: do much now."

*n

CHAITEPt IX.

Save, oil I save

Froti) doubt, when all is double ;

When wise men are not strong,

When comfort turns to trouble.

When just men sufhr wrong.

When faiths are built on dui?t,

When love is half mit^trupt.

Hungry and barren, and sharp as the eea —

Oh ! set us free.

Matthew Arnold.

ON the morniiiji; following the meeting of Lord Cam-
perdown and the good cur^ of l>ic, a small council
af war was held in Julie's siiting-room, and Mrs. Fitz-
Eobinson, M. Gagnon and Julie lierself, were present.
They had judged it best to tell her of Lord Camper-
down's relationship to her, and consulted her as to the-
advisability of telling her mother of his re-appearance
in the country. On consideration, they all agreed that
it would be belter to keep silent, for there was no use
raking up the ashes of a dead past, or reviving memo-

i^^^l

THE KEEP Eli Ot DlC LIGHT HOUSE.

103

lies wliich could only bo bitter. Mti.laine Lalleur had
settled down comfortably, having outlived her soirow
anil become reconciltd to her lot, believing that 'ne to
whom she had given her love, slept somewhere bene.'ith
*) the green sod, otherwise lie would not have kept silence
fill' so long.

The three had much to talk over ; there was the un-
iii'isking of his lordsliip, which would bi a delicate
la>k ; there was the wonderful discovery of the old
pirate's treasure ; and, lastly, there wns tlie all important
Hiu.'Stion ot Pierre's lieaUh, which was, jusL now, in a
Very precarious condition. Julie had, only that niorn-
inif, received a letter from Pierre Grenier's vvardei at
►St. Vincent de Paul, telling her that tlie prisoner could
scarcely work an hour at his allotted task, that he was
•gradually losing his strength, and that continually he
asked for her. The cure, also, had received a note from
till! prison doctor, saying, that whatever was to be
dune, must be done quickly, for Grenier had, :n hia
opinion, but a few weeks more to live.

"And what can we do, Madame ?" said Julie, pite-
ously. "We are all so helpless, we have no money, I
have spent my last cent ; I can do nothing ; it is terri-
ble to think that Pierre must be left there to die."

" He will not be left there to die," said Mrs. Fiiz.
lltibinson, " though things look very black just at pre-

104

THE KEEI'ER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

sent. Unfortunately, I cannot help you now financially.
I have overstepped my allowance this quarter, and
baldly like to ask for more. But your father must help

you."

" My father ? " said the girl, wouderingly, forgetting
thi> newly-found relation.
■ " Yes, your father — Lord Camperdown."

*' I would not ask help from him," said Julie, proudly.
^' Kcver."

" No, perhaps not, for yourself, my child, but for
Pierre's sake, llemember, it is a case of life or death,
we must be prompt. We must employ every means in
our power to effect his release. This is not a time fur
pride, Julie."

" Madame, rather than accept help from Lord Cam-
perdown, I would starve."

" Yes, yes, Julie, I allow all that, and I admire your
independent spirit, but you must put all personal con-
si(lerati( ns in the background. You must think of
Pierre, and Pierre alone. This Lord Camperdown h;i3
wealth, unbounded wealth, and has much influence —
we must enlist him on your side, by some means or
other."

"Madame," said M. Gagnon, "it is useless. He will
do nothing for us. J met him face to face, yesterday ;
he tried to pass me by, but I barred his way. He said

THE KEEPER OF BIO LTGIIT HOUSE.

105

.ncially.
er, and
ust help

rgetting

proudly.

but for
r death,
leans in
;ime for

rd Cam-
ire your
aal con-
:hink of
3\vn has
uence —
leans or

He will
sterday ;
He said

4

he did not know nie, but I forced him to listen. At
first I remonstrated gently with liiin,. and implored help
for his wife whom he had deserted. He utterly denied
having ever met mel>efore, and said I must be com-
pletidy mistaken in him, but I could see him wince
under my gaze, and knew that it was only a very fine
piece of acting on his lordship's part. I could not help
admiring th^ man's magnificent self-control, and I was,
at first, rather shaken in my own mind as to whether
this could actually be the Herbert Flower of the old
days, at Bic."

" M. Gagnon, this man must be met with his own
weapons, despicable as they are," said Mrs. Fitz-Robiu-
son. "One thing he values, and that is the appro-
bation of the world in which he moves. We must
strike at the root of the matter — threaten to expose
him, but in an unexpected manner. Listen, I have a
plan — but no, on second thoughts, I will not tell
even you of it. Can you meet in ray boudoir at five
to morrow afternoon, in order that I may summon you
ill case I need your help in my little plot ?"

" Yes, madame. at any hour you wish. Julie and I
have f«w engagements in your gay capital."

" Well, then, that ie settled, do n^t be later than five.
Kow, M. Gagnon, tell me about the discovery of the
mysterious treasure, I havj been wild with excitement

III

IOC

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

to hear all about it ever since Julie told me there was
the slightest chance of finding it."

" Ob, there is not much to tell about that," said Isl.
le curd The discovery came about very simply. Old
Jacques, the fisherman, died three weeks ago, and of
course, when dying, sent for me. You know, Madame,
that under ordinary circumstance?, any confessions
made to a priest, are sacred, but the old man's conscience
gave him no rest, and he felt that he had done Pierre
Grenier a well-nigh irreparable wrong, and wished me
to write down his confession, and after his death to
make it public. It seems that Pierre had incurred the
hatred of Jean Pinsonneault by his success in winning
the affections of Julie, and the defeated rival had made
a vow to revenge himself on the interlope r. For a long
time no opportunity presented itself, for Pierre's
character was unimpeachable, and every one liked and
respected him. At length, however — I verily believe
that Satan plays into the hands of his disciples — the
opportunity came, and it came through my unfortu-
nate carelessness in leaving my spectacles at old AVil-
sou's house. You know all that part of the story, and
how strong the circumstancial evidence was against

Grenier."

" In Jacques' statement he said that both Jean Pin-
sonneault and his father had offered him a hundred

".'r'SIHMiii,-

«^'

t m

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIGHT HOUSE.

107

3 re was

iaid ^r.

r. Old
and of
[adame,
Sessions
iscience
i I'ierre
hed me
eath to
Ted the
viniiing
d made
' a long
Piene's-
:ed and
believe
es — the
mfortu-
Ld AVil-
H' and
against

lan Pin-
luudred

dollars, which was a heavy bribe to a poor man in his
position, to bear false witness against Pierre Grenier.
The old fisherman had, it seems, seen him go into the
house about midnight, and come cut in great liaste a
few moments later, and when he had disappeared, Jean
Phisonneault appeared at the door, taking with him a
heavy wooden chest, which he carried slowly and with
great difliculty. He was much staitled at seeing the
old man and bound him over to silence. Next morn-
ing he offered him the bribe and lialf Wilson's treasure
if he would help him to incriminate Pierre by telling
half the truth. Between them they buried the treasure
in old Wilson's garden, and after Jean's sudden death
the old fisherman never dared to dig it up,"

"AVhat becomes of it now ?" said Mrs. Fitz-Pobinson.

" It goes to the church, as old Wilson originally in-
tended that it should. In truth, this gold has had
many a strange adventure."

" Indeed it has," said the lady. " I suppose this con-
fession will awaken public sympathy in Pierre's case.
It seems to me that he was much more sinned against
than sinning."

"It has already aroused much sympathy for him,
Marlame," replied the priest. " I have had the con-
fession published all over the country, and I think it
^vill bring help in time, but the wheels of the law move

uV tfi

:i!!i

108

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

very slowly, and Pierre may be beyond all human help
e'er he obtains his release."

"M. Gagnon, you must look on the bright side of
things. What is the use of taking such a gloomy view ?
I have the greatest faith in my plan. Wait till to-morrow,
we shall see if Lord Camperdown will not be forced to help
U8. Now, I must go. Do not fail me to-morrow."

Next afternoon Mrs. Fitz-Robinson had invited about
thirty of the very innermost of the inner circle of
Ottawa to one of her delightful little afternoon teas in
her pink drawing-room. People always came to these
afternoon receptions, though they talked about their
entertainer's eccentricities, veiy freely, as soon as they
had left the front door steps. That morning, in town,
during one of her shopping expeditions, the little lady
had met Lord Camperdown, not quite so accidentally
as she would wish it to appear, standing at the door of
the Russell House. She greeted him with one of
her prettiest smiles and invited him to her tea that
afternoon, telling him that it was given expressly for
him, which was quite true, though hardly in the flat-
tering sense he took it.

The inevitable Mis. Green, with her eternal reminis-
censes of the aristocracy, was to the front to-day.
She had scented nobility from afar, and wished to gaze
once more on the face of a real live lord.

to

.

"spu

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIGHT HOUSE.

10^

iman help

it side of
imy view ?
o-morrow,
;ed to help
row."
ited about

circle of
3n teas in
e to these
)out their
m as they

in town,
little lady
;cidentally
:ie door of
;h one of
r tea that
)ressly for
[1 the tlat-

l1 reminis-
nt to-day.
ed to gaze

" Ah 1 there he is," she said eagerly, to Captain
Smythe, who was handing her her tea without sugar.
" Ah ! Lord Camperdown has arrived, I see. Isn't he
good looking ? See, he's coming to speak to me. Hold
my t ja cup, please. Yes, thank your lordship, I am
very well and happy to meet you. How do you like
this country ?"

" Very much, really, ah ! very much," said his lord-
ship, laconically.

" I suppose you have had some skating ? You do
not have much on your ancestral acres at Camper-
down ?" questioned Mrs. Green.

" N'o, the climate is rather warm for that."

'• Mrs. Green," put in the new aide-de-camp, " I was
at a picnic last night. It was great fun, I can tell you."

•' A picnic in this weather ?"

" Yes, a tobogganning picnic. We went first for a
long drive to the hill, about four miles out of town,
dragging our toboggans with us. Then we lighted fires
on the snow and made tea. It was very picturesque, I
assure you. The most amusing thing I ever saw in my
life happened at it. You know there's a tremendous
hollow in the middle of the slide, and alter it the hill
goes up suddenly."

" Yes, I know it perfectly," said Mrs. Green, longing
to continue her remarks to his lordship.

i

110

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

" There were about twenty of us sliding last night,
among the number was that pretty American girl, Miss
Van Scliuyler."

" Do you mean the giil with the beautitul hair, \vho
is spend inu' the winter with Lady K ?"

" Yes, the girl witli the beautiful hair," replied Cap-
tain Smytho, smiling mischievously, " Yes, she was
there, and so were Jones, of the Inland Revenue De-
partment, and the dark little Frenchman whose name!
forget, but both these youths are devoted to M'ss Van
Schuyler. When I first got to the top of the hxil there
they were standing, disputing as to which of them
should take her down on his toboggan, and Miss Scott
was watching them with a great deal of interest."

" Yes, of course," put in Mrs. Green, " it was re-
ported that she and Mr. Jones were engaged, at lea^t
the course of their true love seemed to be runnin'4
smoothly enough until the fair American came here,
then Mr. Jones suddenly transferred his allegiance."

" Miss Scott had her revenge last night, at any rate,"
went on the aide de-camp, "and I suppose under the
circumstances she is to be forojiven. I never lauiihed
so much in my life. Jones and the young lady finally
went down together, and all went well until they came
first to the hollow and then to the bump in the slide.
Then I saw something dark fall from Miss Van Schuv-

jirl, Miss

mir, who

ied Cap-
she was
3nue De-
se name I
Miss Van
hxil there
L of them
Vliss Scott

3St.

was re-
at lea^t
e runiiiii;^
amo here,
lance."
any rate,"
under :he
r hiu-i It'll
dy finally
they came
the slide.
an SchuY-

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

Ill

ler's liuad, and this object was picked up a moment
afterwards by Miss Scott, who had followed down the
slide on the Frenchman's toboggan. All four climbed
the hill slowly, Jones and the American girl arriving at
the top first. I thought the young lady looked queer,
but couldn't make out exactly what was wrong. Pre-
sently Miss Scott arrived, and walking over to her rival,
handed her before us all, the dark round object, saying
in a voice which everyone could hear quite distinctly :
" MisB Van Schuyler, I think this is your hair. I
picked it up just now." Miss Van Schuyler fainted,
and tliere was a scene which I shall never forget."

" What, all those beautiful basket plaits false ?" said
]\[r3. Green. " It is too bad. But what a spiteful
thin!:^ for the other "irl to do."

"AVasn't it ? Fancy poor Jones' horror. They tell
me he has been composing poetry by the yard lately on
the American's fair locks, beauty leading him by a
single hair, and all that sort of thing. I expect Miss
Van Schuyler will leave for the land of the brave and
the free, where the stars and stripes wave, to-morrow,
and that Ottawa will see her no more."

" What gossip are you two talking," interrupted their
hostess, coming towards them. " Captain Smythe, I'm
ashamed of you, repeating such ill-natured stories.''

" I'm not repeating stories, I was an eye-witness of
the whole thing. It was as good as a play."

112

THE KEEl'Eli OF LIG LWIIT IIOUSK.

" You all seem to be in a mood for hearing stnrie3
this afternoon," said Mrs. Fitz-llobinson, seating lier-
self in her comfortable arm chair and looking at her
visitors, who were enjoying their tea, their bread and
butter and gossip. " Supposing I tell you a story my-
self for a change. It is a true story and very interest-
ing, I can assure you."

*• Then tell it by all means," assented a chorus (4
voices.

" Very well then, I will, as the children say, begin at
the beginning. I'm afraid you are not very comfort-
able. Lord Camperdown. Take this arm cliair."

She pushed a large arm chair towards him and placed
it directly under the chandelier, so that the soft, clear
light fell full on his face, leaving not one line in shadow,
And then she draw her chair forward, and quite as it
were by accident, seated herself exactly opposite him.

" Yes," she went on, " it is a true sto.y, tliougli, per-
haps, you will not believe it. There is a villain in tlie
story, too, a very aristocratic villain. I could hardly
believe that such people could exist. Years ago, many
years ago, there lived in a remote French Canadian
village on the lower St. Lawrence, a pretty French girl
named Julie (I forget her other name), but she was the
Mayor's daughter. What, going Lord Camperdown ?
It is early yet. If you go now I shall think my story
has frightened you away."

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIOIIT HOUSE.

113

storie3

\ct

her-

at her
jad and
)ry my-
nterc'St-

lorus ut

begin at
jomfort-

d placed
^t, clear
shadow,
te as it
ite him.
gli, per-
il in the
i hardly
0, many
'anadian
mch girl
! was the
bidown ?
[ly story

His lordship looked very angry, more angry certainly
than the occasion seemed to warrant, as he replied
l;anghti]y : " Angry ? Not in the least Mrs. Fitz-llobiu-
son. What could your story have to do with rue ? I
thought it was late. By all means continue. I shall
wait till the en'l. I am really much interested."

" That is right, Lord Camperdown," said Mrs. Fitz-
liobinson. " Well, as I was saying, the Mayor's
(laughter was the most attractive girl in the village,
l)ut, she was hard to please, it seems, and none of her
many admirers seemed to touch her heart. Perhaps
she expected too much. I cannot tell. At length/
however, she met lier fate, for it came to pass that
one summer an Englishman, his name was Flower, I
think — pretty name, was it not, Lord Camperdown ? —
came to this remote village for the fishing, and iell in
love with the French Canadian fjirl. Thev were mar-
lied in the llonian Catholic Church, which ceremony
was valid in Canada, even though one of the contract-
ing parties was a Protestant, even though one of the
contracting parties was a Protestant," she repeated
slowly, looking Lord Camperdown full in the face the
wliile.

Ah ! She had touched him at last ; he could not'
meet hiix gaze ; there was in his eyes the self-same
look of terror that she had seen there the night of the ball.

H;, lil!

114

THE KEEPER OF BIC LtOIlT HOUSE.

" Yes, he married, and it appears that tlie poor girl
was very fond of him, much more so than he deserved,
and things went on smoothly for two or three months,
and then lie got tired of her, calmly deserted her, mak-
ing no provision for her. What, did you speak, Lord
Camperdown ? Ah ! I was mistaken. I thought you
said something. Yes, he grew tired of her, went buck
to England, and left her, and that was the last she
ever saw of him from that day to tliis."

" I don't see anything so very extraordinary in your
story," said Mrs. Green. I expect there are hundreds
of such cases on record."

" Wait, I have not come to the extraordinary part
yet. This young Englishman a few years later inlier-
ited his father's title and estates, and without inquir-
ing whether the Canadian girl was dead or alive,
straightway married an English heiress. You would all
be surprised to know how I learned the facts of the
case. Some day, perhaps, I shall tell you how I even
have the marriage certificate of Julie in my possession,
here in this very room. Would you really care to
see it ? I actually have it in my pocket now."

She was somewhat in shadow, and no one observed
that, when she stretched out her hand to get the paper
out of her pocket, it was grasped by Lord Camperdown,
\fho whispered in her ear, his aristocratic calm accents
marvellously changed, and now harsh and grating :

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIG'IT HOUSE.

115

oor girl
jserved,
iionths,
sr, mak-
k, I^rd
^ht you
it back
last she

in your
undreds

ary part
IX inher-

inquir-
3r alive,
vould all
s of the
w I even
(ssession,

care to

observed
.he paper
perdown,
1 accents
ing:

" You shall not show that paper, Mrs. Fitz- Robin-
son," he said, roughly.

" What do you mean, Lord Campordown ?"

" I cannot tell you here what I mean, before all these
people, but you must not show that paper." He held
her wrist in an iron grip. She could liave screamed with
the pain, but that would m^ver do. She had won, she
knew now, and hers was the triumph.

" Lord Camperdown, I will not show that certificate
now, but you must stay till all these people have gone
and give me some explanation. Let my hand go at
once. I promise you. Ls hot that enough ?"

" Mrs. Fitz-Robinson, why don't you go on with your
story, we are all waiting," said Captain Smythe.

" I was answering Lord Camperdown's questions.
Where was I in my story ? Tell me."

" The hero had just come into the title and estates,
and was saddled with two wives."

" Oh ! yes, then the other wife, the Canadian one,
died, I think, and that was the end of it. She never
knew that she was by right a baroness of Great Britain
and Ireland and that her husband was still alive."

" Well, Mrs. Fitz- Robinson, I don't think your story
very exciting, it seems to have missed its point," said
Mrs. Green, discontentedly. " It would have been bet-
ter if the French wife had turned up again and made a

116

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIQIIT HOUSE.

fuss and have shown the hero in liis true colors. Don't
you think so, Lord Camperdown ?"

" Ah ! yes, Mrs. Green, quite so, in fact I was not
paying much attention to the tale."

** Were you not ?" remarked Mrs. Fitz-Robinson,
pointedly. " What, are you all going already ? why, it
is not six o'clock yet. But you will stay a little longer,
Lord Camperdown ?"

His lordship assented gloomily, and watched the
others depart with envious eyes. How he hated this
officious little woman who had got hold of his early
history in some mysterious way ! He must be polite
to her, however, and find out exactly how much she
knew, and at all hazards get that certificate in his own
possession.

When all her other guests had gone, Mrs. Fitz-
Robinson turned to him and said, in her most glacial
voice : " And now. Lord Camperdown, what explan-
ation have you to offer me for your most extraordinary
conduct this afternoon ?"

" Explanation, Mrs. Fitz-Robinson. It was a joke my
dear madame, a joke, I assure you. Are you one of
those people who can't see a joke ? "

" I think, Lord Camperdown, I can see a joke as
well as anyone, but this is no time for trifling. It is
grim truth v^e are dealing with now. Do not attempt

fiTi

THE KEEPER OF DIG LIGHT HOUSE.

IVt

Don't

was not

)binson,

why, it

J longer,

led the
bed this
is early
e polite
ueh she
his own

s. Fitz-

glacial

explau-

ordinary

joke my
u one of

joke as
y. It is
attempt

to tritlo with me. I know all your past, and have such
proof that with all your cleverness you cannot with-
stand."

" You threaten me, madame V

" I wish you to compensate in some small measure,
tlie wife you deserted, the daughter who grew up in
ignorance of your existence, and to make amends
though late."

" All thi . is very well," sneered his lordship. " You
threaten me, madame. How do you know I am the
man ? Your impulsive disposition, you know, often gets
the better of your judgment."

" How do I know ? You are maddening, Lord Camp-
erdown. How do I know ? See, I will show you."

She rang a little silver bell, which was lying on the
tea table, and a moment afterwards the silken draperies
over the door way were pushed aside and M. Gagnon,
in his long, dark, priestly robe, entered, leading Julie
by the hand.

" Here are my proofs, Lord Camperdown," said Mrs,
Fitz-Robinson, pointing to them. " Allow me to in-
troduce you to your daughter, M. Gagnon, I think, you
have met before."

" You are very clever, Mrs. Fitz-Robinson," said his
lordship, his face wliite with ill-suppressed passion.

It was a w

trap.

-laid

118

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

scheme. My dear madame, you have missed your
vocation. Nature formed you for a private detective."

She paid no attention to his sneers, but demanded
quietly : " And now what do you intend to do ?"
' " Yes, what do you intend tu do ? " repeated M. Ga-
gnon. " We have no wisli to cause a scandal or make a
scene, but unless you help your daughter, who is in
such sore distress, the whole country will ring with
your story. Julie, my child, you may go now. Lord
Campeidown, you have seeJi your daughter for the last
time."

His lordship made a movement towards her, holding
out his hand, but the girl drew bac*., leaving the room
as noiselessly and suddenly as she had come.

" What do you want with me?" lie demanded, turn-
ing to the priest.

" That is easily told. Your daughter is grieving be-
cause of the imprisonment of Pierre Grenier, whose
story you know."

' " I should think I did know it," replied his lordship,
irritably. " Mrs. Fitz-Robinson has told us all of it
often enough, goodness knows, and I do not approve of
the alliance. I should think my daughter might aspire
to something higher than a convict."

" She might have done so," retorted the priest, " had
she been brought up as your daughter. Nature pro-

THE KEEPER OF BIG HGIIT HOUSE.

11»

;ed your
3tective."
emanded
?"

d M. Ga-
r make a
;vho is in
'ing with
w. Lord
r the last

, holding
the room

led, tuin-

eving be-
Br, whose

lordship,

all of it

pprove of

;ht aspire

est, " had
ture pro-

vided the girl with gifts, which if cultivated, would have
adorned niy station, but all this is begging the ques-
tion. She loves this man, convict as you call him. By
the way, did you ever think that you yourself might be
iu a prison, too, were your history told? The law, I
believe, is no respecter of persons."

His lordship winced. He had considered this ques-
tion and indeed had put the case before an eminent legal
man in Ottawa, giving of course fictitious names and
places, and the lawyer's opinion had been by no means-

reassuring.

" Now," continued M. Gagnon, " we want five hun~
dred dollars at once for your daughter, who is almost
penniless. We want you to exert all your infiuence^
and you know most of the influential people here, ta
help to obtain Pierre Grenier's release, and we want you
to provide for your wife in her old age."

•* Modest requests, surely," muttered his lordship,
sullenly, but I suppose I shall have to give in. You've
«^ot me in your clutches. I don't see why I should help
this convict fellow."

. '• You don't ? " said M. Gagnon, in his wrath and ex-
citement, walking hurriedly. up and down the room, his
long, black robes contrasting strangely with the dainty
roseate hued, silken draperies and furniture ; " You
don't ? Then I will tell you. It is because his release

120

IHE KEEPER Of DlC LIGHT HOUSE.

mi.

means lite and happiness to Julie ; she has given her
love, her whole being, to him, and, convict though you
call him, he is worthy of it all, for Pierre Grenier
is an upright, honorable, and truthful man."

" It is indeed a thousand pities that such a paragon
should languish in prison," said his lordship, sarcastic-
ally. " I am only surprised that tliey should ever
have put him there. I will do what you wish, the game
is up, and I have lost. But what security have I that
you will keep silence ? I know wliat women's tongues
are," he said, glaring at Mrs. Fitz-Robinson.

" If you keep your part of the compact be assured
that 1 shall keep mine. You will find. Lord Camper-
down, that women can keep secrets admirably, when it
pleases them to do so," the lady said.

" Very well, madame, I suppose I am at liberty to
go now. It is scarcely probable that we shall ever
meet again, for I shall leave this confounded country as
soon as possible. I have the honor to bid you good-
bye."

" His lordship, whether irom fear, or touched with
a tardy r».^pentance, kept his word to the very letter,
and began his programme that night at <linner with his
vice-regal hosts. When the conversation languished
somewhat towards the end of tlie repast, he told the
story of Julie, his daughter, of course suppressing that

lilt

THE KEEPER OF BIO LIGHT HOUSE.

121

Lveu her

ugh you

Grenier

paragon
arcistic-
ild ever
he game
e I that

tongues

assured

Camper-

when it

berty to
lall ever
►untry as
)u good-

part of her history relative to himself. And he told it
with such grace of diction, such pathetic interest, that
the sympathies of the whole table were aroused, and
all were enlisted in the cause of this faithful and de-
voted French peasant girl.

The wheels of justice move slowly, but Julie had now
many powerful and influential friends, and before a
month had passed she and M. Gagnon left the Dominion
capital for St. Vincent de Paul, armed with the order for
Pierre's release. Their joy that bright spring day was but
o'ershadowed by the haunting dread that they might be
too late, that, ere man could set their loved one free,
the great jiilor, death, would claim him as his captive.
All that lay within human power they had done.
Would Heaven be merciful to them and restore Pierre
to their care ?

:itlt

led with
y letter,
with his
iguished
told the
}iug that

i \\ !

CHAPTER X.

* -

" Old France has lost the lays,
It lored in olden time,
But these sweet songs of other days
Still linger in our clime.

Still may we hear them sung
By many a peasant maid,
As with her heart upon her tongue
She wanders through the glade."

"We hear them still, when glows

The moon in flowery dells,

And when across the sparkling snows,

Ring out the jingling bells.

Arthur Weir.

ON amviii'g at the prison, M. Gaguoii and Julie
found Pierre's health to be in so precarious a con-
dition that it was out of the question to undertake the
long and tedious journey to Bic at once.

Grenier had decided, if he should ever recover, that he
would return to live at his old home, having, through the
instrumentality of his benefactors at Ottawa, procured

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

123

the appointment of lighthouse - keeper there. All
promised well, and if he could only regain his health,
the future seemed bright and full of hope to the
released prisoner.

M. Gagnon had looked at things from every point of
view, and having talked over matters with Julie,,
thought the wisest plan would be to have the marriage
take place at once, in order that after he returned to
his parochial duties, she might remain behind and care
for Pierre. The priest wrote to Madame Lafieur to ask
her consent to this arrangement, and also begged her to
come to Montreal to be present at the ceremony. Tlie
first request she readily acceded to, but said that she
was now too old and infirm to travel to Montreal, and
trusted in M. le cure to make suitable arrangements,
and finally, hoped to see them all back at Bic before
very long.

When she first arrived in Montreal, Julie was com-
fortably established with an old widow lady, who had
known M. Gagnon in his college days, many years
ago. This kindly dame took quiet a motherly interest
in the girl after hearing her story, and she felt happier
now than she had done since the old clays before
trouble came to destroy her life's peace. M. Gagnon and
Pierre had rooms a block or two from Julie's abode, in
the French quarter of the city. During the weeks of

h »

I

124

THE KEEPER OF BIG LIOIIT HOUSE.

waiting which were necessary, in order to have the
banns tlirice proclaimed in the parish church of Notre
Dame, the three wliiled away the bright spring days in
exploring the city and its environs. Many an expedi-
tion they took to the picturesque suburbs of Canada's
metropolis, and M. Gagnon was a delightful cicerone
on these little journeys, for he was learned, as are few,
in the historic and antiquarian lore, with which French
Canada abounds. The days flew all too quickly when
he guided Pierre and Julie from place to place, pointing
out the spots where glorious deeds had been wrought
in the heroic age of New France, ere the commercial
spirit of our times had well nigh destroyed the chivalric
element on this continent.
. One day they would drive to the Seigneury, where the
Sieur de La Salle had built himself a manor house, on
what he truly judged to be the finest spot he could
choose for a permanent abiding place, after his many
adventures and perilous voyages. The cur6 pointed out
the ruins of Champlain's trading post, and the old fort,
where he was wont to barter with the Indians, and
showed them how well had been traced out the ground
a palisaded village. With graphic diction, and a
.^*h eloquence in keeping with his subject, the
priest conjured up to their mental vision the brilliant
pictures of the seignorial times in this country, when a

THE KEEPER OF BW LIGHT HOUSE.

125

modified form of old-world feudalism held sway, and
when scions of the noblest families of France, imbued
with daring in the cause of King and Holy Mother
Church, filled the land with echoes of their daring deeds,
and often he would go back to a still earlier time, relating
to them the wondrous story of the discovery of
Hochelaga by the Breton captain Jacques Cartier,
making the dry narrative, over which they were wont
to yawn in their school days, sound to tliem like a fairy
tale. With enthusiasm he to^c them of the friendly
greeting the Hurons accorded to the French explorer,
whom they thouglit a denizen from another world,
praying for their conversion to the one true faith. So
'graphically did M. Gagnon describe the doinjn;s of that
olden time that Julie sometimes felt that she saw these
hardy bands of adventurous spirits sailing in their
primitive vessels, the vast silvery sheet of the great
St. Lawrence, straining their eyes in vain search for
.that long sought highway to the Indies, whose dis-
covery destiny had reserved for the people of another
age and nationality.

As the weather grew milder the trio ventured on
longer expeditions, and one bright spring morning
crossed to Chambly, a place full of associations to the
cure, who had spent many a day in his early youth at
this historic spot. He conducted them to the fort, and

126

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

recalled to their memories the brilliant deeds of the
De Salaberry warrior, the hero of Chateauguay. In
the little church they gazed wiih reverential eyes on
the obelisks erected in honor of him who bore on liis
arms the motto bestowed by Henry of Navarre, " Force
dj superhe^ mercy a faihlc^' and whose career so nobly
bore out the spirit of that proud legend.

At the cure's reminiscences, Pierre's languid eyes
would brighten, and living, as it were, in the glowing
past, he forgot for a time the gloomy shadow of sin,
which had blighted his own young life. And when the
three wandered far away on the quiet country roads,
Julie would sing in her sweet, clear voice the soul^s
they loved, those quaint Canadian melodies, half hum-
orous, with a touch of pathos in them, and their music
seemed to drive away all bitterness from Pierre
Grenier's memories of the past three years. These
songs of French Canada, liow characteristic they are
with an individuality all their own, and Julie sang
them from her heart ; "Pas derrier chez mon pere," "En
roulant ma boule," and " Sur le pont d' Avignon," were
her favorites, except when her mood would change and
she would break into the familiar :

" Chante Rossiguol chante

Toi qui a le coeur gal ;
Tu as le coeur a rire

Moi je I'ai-t a pleurer."

,

THE KEEP EH. OF BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

127

of the
ay. In
eyes on
3 on his

, " Force
10 nobly

nid eyes
(i;lo\vini:f
/ of sin,
A'hen the
[■y roads,
[le soni^s
alf hum-
}ii' music
n Pierre
These
they are
alie sang
|ere," "Eu
on," were
lange and

These songs of Canada, how dear they are to the
Canadian wherever he may roam, conjuring up the re-
membrance of the maple forest, the snow-clad woods,
and the jingling of the merry sleigh bells on crisp,
frosty star-lighted nights !

But these lialcyon days could not last for ever. M.
Gdgnon's little Hock were anxious for his return, for
the young cure, who had taken his place for a time,
was to them but a poor substitute. The banns, too,
had been proclaimed for three successive Sundays in
the parish church, and there was no adequate reason
why the marriage should be longer delayed ; it would
be some weeks yet before Pierre could travel to Bic,
and the cure was very anxious to return home as soon
as possible.

It was the afternoon before the wedding, and the
little party of three had driven up the mountain for a
last look at Montreal from the summit. It was one of
those lovely clear days of early summer when eacn
object stands distinctly defined on the horizon ; the
foliage was in the tender fresh green of its new beauty,
and a vast and grand panorama lay stretched below the
feet of the gazers. In the far distance they could see
the peaks of the great Adirondacks, and the emerald
hills of Vermont, while to the east, as far as the eye
could reach, was the mighty St. Lawrence, its junction

!:l|i'l

128

THE KEEPER OF lilC LIGHT HOUSE.

with the Ottawa marked by the distinctive' colors of
the rival waters. Leyond the round fortified island,
named alter the sainted wife of Cliamplain, tliey could
see the dim, blue, sugar loaf mountain of St. Hilaire,
and from the myriad vilHgcs on the river banks glis-
tened church steeples dazzling in the sun of this sweet
young summer time. Days such as this pass all too
quickly, and the cure was the first to remind Julie that
she must be up betimes next morning, for that would
be her wedding day, and they must tear themselves
away from Mount Koyal and its attractions.

The marriage morn was in all respects a beautiful
one, the sky was clear and blue, r»ot even one tiny
cloud broke its unruffled surface, and at eight o'clock
the small party was assembled in the church of Our
Lady of Lourdes, awaiting the bride. Julie had chosen
this church in which to be married out of tlie many in
Montreal, and by her choice of it showed that some-
where deep down in her nature slumbered artistic in-
stincts. To this church, during her residence in i\w.
Canadian metropolis, she was wont to come to say her
devotions, and to gaze with admiration, mingled with
reverential awe, on the paintings, which more nearly
than others in the Dominion resemble those of the vast
cathedrals of European cities. Here, with much more
skill and refinement than are usually loun i in western

THE KEEPER OB BIG LIGHT HOUSE.

129

)lors of
island,
y couM
Hihiire,
ks glis-
is sweet
all too
Lilie that
t would
miselves

leautiful
me tiny
o'clock
of Our
1 chosen
many in
it some-
istic in-
le in the
say her
led witli
e nearly
the vast
ch more
western

r

churches, are faithfully and admirably portrayed the
events of the life of tlie Holy Mary. Thi^ llie cen-
tral figure, the motif, as it were, of tlie whole orna-
mentation of the editice Julie loved to louk on wiili
that unquestioning adoration seldom to be found,
except in the devout and simple-minded Catliolic.
Though the girl knew little of the laws of ail, the
emotional and religious sides of her nature licld her
spell- bound as she stood before tluit life-like figure,
with the arms meekly folded across the breast, far re-
moved from earthly turmoils and cares, su]ti)orlcd only
by the ethereal clouds of Heaven, and clothed with the
sun.

On that beautiful morning Julie entered llie church
with her old and faithful friend. ]\[. (lULiiion, and Lhi;
expression on her face was oni' of iiuiuL hai)jiiuess, al-
beit a happiness vastly different fitjui liiat dc[)ictcd on
her bright countenance, when we lirst met her in her
mother's garden many years ago.

Her beauty was now more subdued, iiu)re chastened
and matured, and as the sun slreamed throu-h the
stained glass window, its rays, like a halo, lighted (tn
her wondrous nut-brown hair, as if the patient saints,
who slept beneath the altar, had crowned her for her
faith and long endurance.

The service over, all returned to Julie's lodging

4

il

130

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIOHT HOUSE.

wliero niadamc bad prepared a little breakfast in boiior
of tlic occasion, and they made merry after the custom
of these good French Canadians. Of course M. Ga-
f^non made a speech, to which Pierre replied, and then
madame's husband, who was one of those men to be
found in all grades of society, alwaysspokenof asmadame's
husband, essayed to make one also, but failed lament-
al)ly, thereby incurring the wrath of madame, who
hated failure of any kind. In feasting and merriment
the day passed away, and soon it was time for the
euro to go, as he wished to take the steamer down
to Quebec that evening and thence to IMc. Pierre and
Julie accompanied him to the wharf, and saw the last
of him as he stood on the deck of the steamer, amidst
a heterogeneous crowd of children, nurses, and anxious
motliers, wlio were taking their noisy flocks down to
the coast for their summer outing. Thoroughly out of
place the good man looked in this busy crowd, a
mediae val figure amid tlie \ ushing practicality of our
day, but he would not lia' e to endure the discomfort
long. Soon lie would l)e back with his own people, in
his quiet presbytery on the banks of the great river.

in honor
) custom

M. Ga-
ind then
[jn to be
nadanie's

lament-
,me, who
lerrinient
3 for the
aer down
ierre and
the last
r, amidst
\ anxious

down to
ily out of
crowd, a
ty of our
liscomfort
people, in
it river.

((

CHAPTER XI.

Then gavest Thou the Binile

Whence aogel wings thrill quick like summer liglituing,
Vouchsafing rent beeiJe thee, where they never
From Love and Faith may sever."

E. B. Browning.

THE Island of Bic glistened in the autumn sunli^lit
like some bright gem set in the multen silver
stream of the great St. Lawrence, wliich glimnuu*ed
with a million varied lights ; the day was perfect in its
braciu" freshness, a hundred times mora exhilaratin*^
than champagne, that freshness of the pure dry Canadian
air. The scent of new mown hay was wafted* across
the waters from a distant meadow on the main land,
and the silence of the afternoon was only broken by
the multled movement of a canoe paddled swiftly
through the shining waters.

In this canoe sat two persons. Very silent they
were, devoting, it seemed, all their energies tu the loco-
motion of their skiff until they reached the shore of

.1

132

THE KEEPER OE BIC LJQltT nOUSU.

lUc Island, where they disembarked. On the beacli
stood a tall, weather-beaten French Canadian, svho
welcomed them effusively, holding out his hand and
saying :

" Ah, Pierre ! so you have come at last. Well,
we've been expecting you a long time. And so you are
to take my place. You are welcome to it, I'm sure, for
I've been here for twelve years and I've had enough ot
it. I'm loiid of the island, tliough it is veiy lonely,
especially in winter, and perhaps when I get away I
may be sorry I left, but I've got a situation in Mont-
real. That will be livelier than here, ana there's more
pay, too, and tliat's what we all try for, eh ! So this is
your wife ? All, madame, I used to know you many a
year ago when you were scarcely able to walk. Now
come, I'll show you the lights. I've got to be off at
live o'clock. Will you wait here madame while we 20
up to tlie tower ?"

" "^^^s Monsieur, I shall be perfectly content here."
I*evfcctly content ; yes, that expressed Julie Grenier's
state of mind most accurately. She was content, alas !
how few oi us can say those words with truth. Her
])art was done, her work nccomplishcd, her heart's
desire fulfilled. What mattered it to her that licr life
henceforth would l-e spent on this lonely island, where
she could hold little intercourse with the outer world ?

THE KEEPER OF BW LIGHT HOUSE.

133

e beach
,11, who
ind and

. Well,
) you are
sure, for
nough ol
' lonely,
away I
in Mont-
re's more
3o this is
L many a
k. Now
be off at
lie we ^0

t here."
1 Grenier's
ent, alas !
ith. Hor
ir hoait's
it lier life
nd, where
ter world ?

What mattered it to her that she was thus exiled ? She
had Pierre, Pierre who hr.d gradually, under the care of
M. Gagnon and her.sell, been nursed back to health
and strength. Pierre was free, he had been provided
for by the kindness of friends, who had procured for
him the appointment of the keeper of Pic Lighthouse.
It was an appointment for which he was eminently
fitted, knowing as he did every channel and eddy of the
river in these parts. Mrs. Fitz-Robinson's energy and
kindness had helped him materially after his release,
and she never rested until this provision had been
made for him.

For long after Pierre's release the cure and Julie
feared that freedom had come too late, and that the
dread insidious consumption had marked him as a
victim, but happiness and liberty worked wonders for
him, and after a few months of his open-air life in the
wild woods, for which he had pined, the color returned
to his wan face, the thin, sunken cheeks filled out, and
the stooping shoulders became upright. Now, in Oc-
tober, he was strong enough to undertake his new
duties, and he and Julie had left her mother's house
that afternrion for their new dwelling.

Poor Madame Laflour found it hard to part with her
daughter so soon again, for she wns ageing very fast
but Julie comforted her with the assurance that half an

! i

134

THE KEEPER OF ETC LIGHT HOUSE.

hour's rowing would bring her from the island at any
time, and promised to visit her at least three times a
week. The old lady had never been told of her hus-
band's re-appearance, nor of his perfidy. What was
the use ? said M. le curi^. Why disturb her peace of
mind ? It could do no good and would only embitter
her declining years. Far better that she should believe
that the young Englishman had died many years ago,
than to know he had developed into the smiling self-
suiiicient and perfidious man of the world known as
Lord Camperdowu. And the old lady night and morn-
ing sent up her little petition for the repose of the soul
of Herbert Flower, cut off in the prime of his manhood.
Perchance that simple prayer, breathed by those faith-
ful lips and wafted to the throne of grace, may inter-
cede for him on the day of reckoning, when wrongs
will be righted and tlie full light of noon-day will
shine on hidden things, and falsehood and deceit will
be banished from this fair world for ever and ever.

The old light-house keeper had gone. The afternoon
faded into twilight, twilight into night. The moon
rose clear and full, and shone out in pale white splendor,
illuminating the dim blue Laurentian hills across the
great wide river. I'ierre, after attending to the lights
!•> the tower, arranged his nets on the beach and re-
turned slowly to the lighthouse, r-hinking how strangely

THE KEEPER OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE.

135

all had come about, and after these long and weary

years he was back to his beloved river, for which ho

had yearned with that overwhclmin;^ home-sickness

characteristic of exiled Canadians. The past seemed

like a hideous dream, bah ! he would not think of it.

But try as* he would, the memory of that ill-fated

day, when he struck Jean Pinsonneault down, haunted

him at all times. This memory always disturbed his

peace ; one only had power to drive it away, even for

a few short moments ; one only, hark ! that was her

voice, what a clear sweet voice it was. He paused a

moment to listen to the quaint words and old fashioned

melody :

" Par derrier'chez moa pere,
Vole, in on cteur vole,
Par derrier 'cliez nion p^re,
Lui y a-t-un pon niier doiix

in

Non ce n'est qu'unn etoile

Vole, mon C(eur, vole,
Non ce n'est qu'une etoile

Qu' eclair nos amours.

Nos amants Pont en guerre,

Vole, mon cccur, vole,
Nos araanta sont en guerre,

lis combattent pour nous.

— Qu'ils perdent ou qu'ils gagnent.

Vole, mon coeur, vole,
Qu'ils perdent ou qu'ils gagnent,

lis les auront toujoura."

i|t

136

THE KEEPER OF BW LIGHT HOUSE.

I )

Julie's song came suddenly to an end as she lified
her head at his approach and exclaimed,

" Pierre, you have been thinking again. I can see it
by your face. You have been brooding over what ir,
long gone by. Pierre you must forget."

" Julie I cannot, not to-night. Do you not remember
what anniversary tliis it ? "

"Hush Pierre, you shall not recall it, M. le cure sayr^
you ore too luird on yourself, you must forget. Oh !
Pierre my beloved one, for my sake, forget. The guod
God has forgiven you, man has forgiven you. Why
will you not forgive yourself ? "

Several years have passed since that autunni evening
when Pierre and Julie took up their abode at the light-
house. In that remote district only a few changLS
have taken place. Pierre Grenier still retains his im-
portant post. Madame Laileur has been gathered to
her fathers, and sleeps amongst the tpiiet dead in Lie
churchyard, where a rough wooden cross marks her last
resting place. None would imagine tliat in this liumble
spot is buried the wife of the representative of tlie
noble house of Camperdown, nor that by right this pour
old woman shonld repose in their stately mausoleum,
far away in the old world. Another strange life story
is finished, another leaf from the book of fate turned
over. And M. Gagnon is now old, very old, long past

TttE kEHPER OP MC LtOtIT ttOUSE.

137

le lifted

[Ui sc(i it
what ir,

Miieiiibiir

Hirti sayr^
ut. Oh :
rhc good
n. Why

cveiiiirj;
,hc light-

chaiige.'j
, his iiii-
hcrcd to
[id in lUc
s her last
is humble
/e of tlie
this poor
xusoleiiiii,
life story
Le turued
long past

the three score years and ten allotted to man for his
work, but he is still hale and hearty, laboring amongst
his poor, saying mass daily, and finding a vast amount
of pride and pleasure in the new wing he has added to
his little church. Old Wilson's hoarded money has
been spent at last, and according to his dying wish.
Still the old pirate's dwelling stands on the point, bleak
and deserted, for none will approach it even in broad
daylight. Fishermen coming home from their expedi-
tious lat3 at night, declare that they have seen ghostly
forms come out of that door, and have beheld a gaunt
old man, dragging after him a great oaken chest, and
have heard weird ghostly voices shriek in mad expostu-
lation on a stormy night, " Death ! death ! death ! to
him who touches the hidden treasure."

But on the Island at any rate, nothing comes to dis-
turb the harmony, and with her steadfast love and
devotion, Julie has guarded and watched over Pierre,
who has well-nigh out-lived the horror of his unpre-
meditated deed and bitter imprisonment. He is a
grey haired man, respected and honored throughout the
country-side, and now no accusing tongue would dare
to reproach him for the past. And the Island is no
longer lonely, for the melody of little children's
laughter and prattle resounds through its pinewoods
and overhanging crags, and their gracious presence haa

•mm

138

7BB RESPSR OF BIC LIGHT HOUSE,

chased away the gloom, which of yore was wont to
o'erwhelm him, and thus little by little, with the aid of
the faithful Julie, and the omnipotent consoler — Father
Time — there has come into the life of the Keeper of
Eic Lighthouse, that great and abounding peace which
passeth understanding.

The End.

'ont to
i aid of
Father
eper of
I which

I